Ornate arches bend inward;
the crown drafts a new law—
this bull’s skull becomes a muted judge.
White radiance unfastens the design—
the year acquires a different serial.
From smoke, the proud letter R condenses;
below, a flower occupies the stain.
No midnight clears the bargain in the light.
Gold pageantry dissolves in acrid dust;
brocade steadies while all the hall unthreads.
The lacquered cane—wars drawn insect-thin,
tethered to the palm—casts off its name
into the occult.
Red stockings burn against the ballroom hush;
the blood stayed loyal to the painted stage
while everything else learned to play polite.
And from the window’s glare a hawk drops in—
black punctuation, sudden and precise—
to edit air with knives of beating wing.
Off to one side, the creature waits alone,
an old joke—
a little god of plague, dressed as a bird;
the masked idea—condemned never to die.
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Author:
Isabel Szurlej (
Offline) - Published: June 18th, 2026 18:03
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
Offline)
Comments1
Surreal and totally metaphoric it is filled with symbolism. Nicely done
Thank you so much ā Iām glad the symbolism came through. I wanted it to stay surreal without giving everything away. Much appreciated. š
You are most welcome Isabel
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