Saturday, November 01, 2014

Paul waking is in
Verlaine’s dream

by Roberto Lavidez

memory
memory
what do you
want from me?
beneath
the cloak
our hearts
race with
clandestine
thoughts
stings me
with a false
smile and
changes
my agony
into an
amusing
spectacle
often
I have
this dream
a strange
searching
dream
always these
feverish
phantoms
leading their
vast round
dance
sad and
tossing like
dust-motes
caught in
sunbeams
night comes
the owl flies
it is the
moment
when one
thinks about
old wives’s
tales …
in the black
night
a torso
made of
ivory and
shadow
the sky
was gray
the north
wind
wept like
a bassoon
me
I wandered
alone
walking
my wound
through
the willow
grove
melancholy
rocks
my heart
to oblivion
I summon
days long
gone
with my
weeping
like an
old man
chilled
to the
bone
like a poor
orphan
without a
big sister
tired
of life
afraid
of death
not unlike
a lost
brig
toy of ebb
and flow
on the
ocean
the first
groan
uttered by
the first
man
driven
from Eden
is nothing
but an eclogue
next to it
waking is
in the
dream
the worm
is in the
fruit
remorse
is in love
that is how
it must be

©robertolavidez2014

















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