suddenly I woke up
but I'm not sure if it was
yesterday or tomorrow --
at nightfall is always a
pleasure when words fail
and all this weekly Babel can
rest in peace within our lips --
to put aside all plainspoken
speeches along impossible
islands or maybe bypass daily
standards until none bystander
lasts.
I feel my dried mouth
and my autonomous
body take me to the
kitchen upon its
nocturnal frame
of limeligths and
fiduciary ghosts...
then this eastern wind
whispered among trees while
the household chasms became
a invitation to a careless exile.
a moth over its
hollow trajectory -- incapable
of centrifugal force got captured
by the kitchen sink to die between
broken fairytales and night's debris.
upon its gesture none self attempt,
maybe because its birth shared the
same elusive past of the lesser gods,
already tired of their same ol' fables or
just indifferent to be mistaken for others,
with what remained of Odyssey and high seas
before the minimal birth of meaning:
in vain any attempt of flight and lore.
but those who get carried away by the evening
know in their bones that this indifference won't
last because we will be haunted by fragments
of dreams, by unstable alchemy of the next day,
in the small disasters that the dawn still absorbs.
quite unnatural moth (revision)
Did you mean lesser?maybe because its birth shared the
same elusive past of the lessen gods
shared implies same?maybe because its birth shared
the elusive past of lesser gods
will come back when I have absorbed the poem more.
cheers
mac
Overall I like your poem, not bad with the imagery and the wordplay, I liked the word fudiciary!riverrun wrote: ↑Sat Jun 22, 2019 3:40 amsuddenly I woke up
but I'm not sure if it was
yesterday or tomorrow --
at nightfall is always a
pleasure when words fail
and all this weekly Babel can
rest in peace within our lips --
to put aside all plainspoken
speeches along impossible
islands or maybe bypass daily
standards until none bystander
lasts.
I feel my dried mouth
and my autonomous
body take me to the
kitchen upon its
nocturnal frame
of limeligths and (It's spelt limelights)
fiduciary ghosts... (I like this line, nice imagery!)
then this eastern wind
whispered among trees while
the household chasms became
a invitation to a careless exile.
a moth over its
hollow trajectory -- incapable
of centrifugal force got captured
by the kitchen sink to die between
broken fairytales and night's debris.
upon its gesture none self attempt,
maybe because its birth shared the
same elusive past of the lessen gods, (You mean lesser here?)
already tired of their same ol' fables or
just indifferent to be mistaken for others,
with what remained of Odyssey and high seas
before the minimal birth of meaning:
in vain any attempt of flight and lore.
but those who get carried away by the evening
know in their bones that this indifference won't
last because we will be haunted by fragments
of dreams, by unstable alchemy of the next day,
in the small disasters that the dawn still absorbs. (I like this one too)