I turn the pages of my notebook
dressed as a Harlequin ,
where dishevelled lines gallop ,
harnessed to the chariot of my madness
-so far from gentleness...
Letters shaped like inner daggers .
Ilusive ideograms drifting toward
a dying star for all eternity ...
Illusions etched onto dead loves
barely out of the nest ,
ink-colored flesh ,washed ashore
in a cluster of lunar seaweeds ...
This aesthetics of a still life
that aspires to metamorphosis...
Painting from the depths ,
where navigates the torment
of the unfinished ...
I, child of Mercury who improvises preludes.
Lost in digital forests regrowing
upon skin-deep fires ...
My emotions as a reclusive writter ,trapped
in a memory without walls ...
My hieroglyphs break free ,
running through the streets ,
in quest of a carnal chill inspiration ...
I sublimate my creation
into carnival-like incantations !
Place of worship, where ghostly fingers
play eerie gymnopédies on a cursed organ...
Rebellious scripture heals the silence
of the broken childhood .
But this inner alphabetical maze scares me ...
-
Author:
lorenz (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 2nd, 2026 11:03
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: Ellen Marsell, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments4
I was scared too by the hieroglyphics of scripture that only the learned could interpret. Later I found it was just pig Latin invented by old men. Well done Lorenz
Ayay uetray alarschay ustmay ekspay igpay atinlay !
Got ya
fine write friend
My notebooks are true surrealist masterpieces !
I believe they are friend
Art does not destroy the inner monster. It learns to speak with it and gives it a name.
A surreal poem with a strong inner musicality.
Its name changes depending of the inspiration !
What an extraordinary piece, Lorenz! The poet appears as performer, wounded child, mystic, and restless creator...turning inner torment into something ceremonial while remaining unsettled by its power. Brilliantly written, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Once poets die,do they transform into words in an improbable space-time?
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.