Poetry

Purple rays from a drowning sun’s womb
will reap the flesh from hollowed leaves.
The blood will spill and paint concrete
shells, spewed by the silence of the midnight rain.
Memories are stalking
in feather soft footsteps, taping echoes
I can hear no more.

Across the ruined bridges, to pass the dancing silhouettes
unknown to someone who lived my shell,
to me when I was among them.
Once again I’ll walk through the same streets
washed by the blindness of my waken eyes,
painted by the spectral nuances in which
I’ll dive forevermore.

I shall feel the life.
And it’ll burn,
as ever.

Then, within the depths of my own Sheol,
the divine touch of acidic tongue’s saliva
will flow past the cloak of my memories...
...licking them – melting my presence for one time more.
So I’ll see the house, the three of them inside. I’ll rush in.
I’ll break the walls, filled with sore, wrapped in wails of time,
I’ll spread my arms to reach them.
Again.

Shattered glass will bless the hall, fondling gentle feet.
In the midst of the night, covered by shouts,
they’ll grab their ways to the rooms I whitened –
in ash last year. While I share their tears, I’ll try to catch
a glimpse of reason – whom do they fear? Something’s happened
to my pigeons. Something I couldn’t conceive.
For an eon moment I’ll hug their aspen shoulders, letting soft drops
to pierce my face.

I shall feel the fire.
And I’ll be that flame,
once again.

Immaculate eyes. Those crystal, aquamarine eyes will stare,
distending the flame, teasing my scrupled mind.
But the Hades is my witness that Lethe can’t revive the burns of Acheron, so I’ll grab her hand – and she’ll float in darkness
with me around. With me... breaking inside.
I’ll rupture the silk of her nightgown. I’ll pierce her flesh.
I’ll find my way in, blinded by her gaze. I dreamed of this and I have a brand new seed to sow.

And then, I’ll return to
the slaughtered soul’s lair,
and will wait for another turn
to haunt, to snivel, to mow... to breathe.
To round the circle...
...Anon.