A little ,a lot .
Maybe never .
The next moment until the end.
Is it still possible to escape ?
Poetry is just a passing inn
where we write on a stain tableclothe
what we were unable to say to lost souls...
Words ,now only have the taste
of a cooled tenderness .
Meat that return to ashes...
Life remains suspended on a twilight
of remorses where hours converse
with boredom .
Savoring the poisoned instant
of an amnesic absinthe ...
At departure as at arrival,
we are always to late ,
forgetting the lethal lyric ...
So cold is the memory of reverie.
Tonight I will stop at the inn
in the middle of nowhere .
Terror terminus .
By the flickering light of my subconscious
I would draw up the lines
of a will for nothingness.
and tonight falling asleep
in the arms of a child's death .
The appetizers of a well -educated folly
leave regrets on the shredded body
of a double bass that I will no longer enjoy...
Up there,I will finish this concerto
for purple dahlias ,
in tribute to the vestal virgins ...
A red beverage to the feeling of metal
draw a ruby necklace ,that is dying
in the delta ...
A little,a lot .
Maybe never .
The next moment until the end .
Escaping is no longer possible
under the black sun of melancholy...
-
Author:
lorenz (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: November 10th, 2025 11:36
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Ellen Marsell
Offline)
Comments4
A haunting and lyrical poem. Loved it
So many cursed spirits haunt me !
Hmm. Hope they fly away soon👍
Ha! ha ! they are welcome !
to stay, or to fly away?
they are my inspired visitors !
👏🏻 love it!
Thank you for your lunar appreciation !
It is amazing how this poem begins with a sense of metaphorical reality that dissolves into the mists of surreal and cryptic images barely intelligible. There is a stream of logic to the illogical a drift from reality (whatever that may be) to free floating associations with no key, locked in the mind of the creator. It is very nicely crafted. A fave
I am fortunate to have a very locked mind !
A twilight dressed in verse.
A magnetic atmosphere where melancholy turns into matter, cosmology, and the very space of poetic experience.
Profoundly philosophical and beautifully written.
Purple dahlias are these flowers beyond the word that only fade in dreams ..
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