Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Proustian horizon

by Roberto Lavidez

the sky
conceals god
more than
it reveals
upon the
threshold
fortune itself
is writ
the insensibility
of nature’s
entirety
seems to fill
our heart’s
void
so tired
of having
suffered
more tired
of having
loved
no one
could paint
not Whistler
Michelangelo
or Goya
filter the
lukewarm
tears of a
misunderstood
sun
ocean of
sighs and
just above
the waves
a flight of
butterflies
pauses
as solemn
as time
and like
time
equivocal
I sensed
the horizon
I interrogated
the echo
brandish
the mountains
as one throws
a rose
what’s vague
is tender now
what’s near
remote
if you have
seen
if you have
known
the most
eloquent
history
should drop
to the floor
the work
will be more
difficult
but more
beautiful
at this point
if ever
it had been
born
in my heart
all my
thoughts
run slow
besides
Proust
spoils more
each day
and soon
will expire
death
inevitable
to the
vagaries
of an age
who isn’t
so keen
on Verlaine
could care
less
sometimes
waking
startled from
the slumber
that makes up
our life
the smile
is for regret
the tears
for hope
in dream
he thought
he was
feeling
ohh la la!
and so
you were
wrong
about this
young poet
he frequents
only one
world:
his mind

©robertolavidez2014












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