In the mirror of darkness
I contemplate the grotesque mask
of my double .
Monster in the twilight of Satan's garden.
Blue flies crazy of the flesh of these girls
with a last prayer in their eyes .
A stolen life has no hive
to deposit its nectar .
It wavers somewhere ,
hand to hand flight
lost in a burst of solitary ecstasy
in a dying star ...
You are my prey in a cage ,
where your wings break against the void ...
In this cursed spring ,
everything has been said ,
like the final of a Fellini's film ...
A wind laden with epidemics ,
shakes the crucifix .
The crowd is made of ashes and rubbish .
Crows sharing the infant ...
Only the mute knows the secret of confession
and this taste of abjection ...
In the sin of angel, no one sees me pass by .
It's time for dogs beaten in the rain .
Your corpse left a footsprint
in the soul's dirty snow ...
I am the wanderer that redraws
the taste of shapes
and choosing the tree with withered arms...
Naturalist who pins decay love
in the herbarium of habbits ...
On your grave ,I return to lay
a scarlet dahlia to celebrate your birth .
The train will stop at the marshalling yard.
You would be asleep ...
I would come in without knocking .
And you will recognize me ,
this old Teddy revived from childhood .
I am the dream killer ...
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Author:
lorenz (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 5th, 2025 10:34
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 8
Offline)
Comments2
Illusions die hard in the mind of the blind and even harder in the deaf. Lost treasure belongs to no one and although it is taxed when found may be confiscated by those that govern. Holy is the word of the possessor. Nicely done
The poet's dream is nothing more than a social satire that takes itself seriously !
A text that hides, behind its visions, a reflection on the quiet violence of illusions and their fate in a world without refuge.
Oftent our refuge is just lie and illusion !
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