I am madness in the flesh of overheated corals .
Glances that avoid and seek each other
without recognizing one another ...
I am the anxiety of being alone
in front of this screen forbidden to children .
Indifference at the heart of civilized chaos - Which says :
'' Come on ! I am not waiting for you ! ''
I am wandering through the labyrinth
of customs and traditions dictated by circumstances...
Well -manered dementia under the grimace
of tired neons lights ...
On the journey of the unfinished ,
only emptiness is predictable ...
I'd like to fall asleep with my eyes open
in the memory of eternity .
But will it welcome me ?
My dreams cast into the bitterness
of a misty vague ...
Giving up on becoming a child
without ever having growin old ...
Inspired canvas sketch of a tropical depression
stranded on the gently sloping earth of desires.
In the ephemeral only chance is quantitative .
My dilapidated old tub on the scorched shore ,
ablaze by a crew of mutineers leaving midnight mass !
In dog, god and female I don't believe !
My damned soul is nothing but a den of thieves
who laught at your word !
the heat wave isn't in love .
In that cold hell I found happiness !
On the horizon that shroud without a corpse
drifts past off the coast of nowhere island...
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Author:
lorenz (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: July 8th, 2026 10:59
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 8
- Users favorite of this poem: Ellen Marsell, Tristan Robert Lange
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Comments3
Madness drifts in the current circling the earth and in its circling it comes back to where it started starting over again. In such reoccurrences one expects different outcomes but they remain the same. Is this not insanity?
The mask of a well-behaved insanity ...
I have known many insane that were well behaved behind and in front of their masks
Everyone finds themselves on such an island at least once in their life — in a moment of profound loneliness, when familiar values no longer seem to work and faith begins to fade... A deeply philosophical poem that I truly enjoyed.
The human condition does not consist in seeking a permanent refuge but in living with absence...
Lorenz what a fascinating piece. I love how you lean fully into the surreal without losing the emotional thread underneath it all. The imagery keeps shifting like a dream, yet certain lines land with real force...especially the longing for eternity and the closing image of that shroud drifting off the coast of nowhere. This one stayed with me. Excellent write, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
But even an empty shroud proves that there was once something worth preserving in memory .
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