Wednesday, July 23, 2014

very Verlaine

by Roberto Lavidez

imagination
restless
and feeble
I summon
days long
gone with
my weeping
I quiver
through
the forest
like a
coward
afraid of
an ambush
or seeing
a corpse
often
I have
this dream
a strange
searching
dream
I went
along
dreaming
of sublime
Plato
and of
Pheidias
everything
wounds you
and pushes
you away
driven
from Eden
is nothing
but an
ecologue
next to it
always these
feverish
phantoms
leading
their vast
round dance
to the poor
dead who
are always
alone and
shivering
endlessly
nervous
men and
women
are bustling
about
with furtive
steps
the way
hyenas go
in those
fabled
eras
the limbo
of history
and whatever
cares
you might
have are
no more
than swallows
across an
afternoon sky
with the
shameful
conflict
of your
low tasks
your empty
vanities
holding
an hourglass
in one hand
and a sword
in the other
I know
every lark
coming and
going
the melancholy
of setting suns
I wandered
alone
walking
my wound
my disgust
my boredom
my distress
through
the willow
grave
and the
zenith
fills with
dull
glimmerings
the thunder
roars
terrifyingly
I abjure
all thought
memory
memory
what do 
you want 
from me

©robertolavidez2014












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