Behind the doors of the wind,
there are suspended
clatter of void in the moment,
deafening silent voice
and lethal symphony ...
Forbidden things,
securely locked
in the closets of life .
Sometimes indifference
that is not reflected in the mirror...
Well mannered shadows ,
leaves their shoes in the hellway ,
then sit down in the dying room,
distilling the poison
in their ceylon tea
without speaking to each other...
Curtains drawn
over a few pleasantries
lying bored in the dust of the carpet.
The passing seasons leave wrinkles
on the scratched record of the melody...
'' And now the end is near ''
Sings Sinatra ...
In its wooden frame ,
the ancestor smiles .
A marble cross watches
over his memory ...
And the old wise clock
no longer chimes
the shameful confessions
of the sofa springs ...
They all left faithfully on schedule
as they were finding
their way back to school ...
And here ,I am finally alone at home ,
tenant in this evil that dwells in the soul .
I'm going to tear apart
all those frozen lips
in the family aquarium .
R.I.P off the bride's immaculate dress
and impose motus on their oaths ...
I will clean out that damn' fridge
where throbs this corpse of love
with its sterilized stare
and hands stained with sins
and illegitimate sons ...
Then I'll light a joyful moonfire
Where my madness will be purified !
The rediscovered word of the unsaid
whispering to me :
'' I am sorry for lying to you ! ''
-
Author:
lorenz (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 25th, 2025 10:46
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: Ellen Marsell, Sealgair
Offline)
Comments4
This poem speaks of separation - of breaking away from a toxic inheritance, of the truth that one can only truly become oneself by destroying what was imposed. It reads like a psychological map of the soul, a confession before oneself.
This house of the revealed unsaid becomes becomes a place of healing .
This tickles the brain in places that can not be itched or scratched only the edges. A provocative write Lorenz
The truth of a life lies not in its brilliance but in the shaping of its darkness .
A great line Lorenz
I sometime emerge from the darkness...
A powerful text. It feels like a psychological monologue, where the metaphor of the house turns into a metaphor of the soul, and the "unsaid" becomes that inner depth which seeks an outlet.That’s how I see it…
You've perfectly understood the text frame and its psychological implications ! Thank you !
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