And now you come back night, and comes back the sensation.Dark discord, perhaps are you teasing me?
Insignificant, atrocious, undaunted,
you aren't nothing,
just a preacher,
¡what I'm saying!¡you're the same devil !
Endlessly and repetitive and evil with your singing.
When I brood and you are calm, is as if your presence wasn't anywhere.
But then you damage how ivy! Why do you float?
Or rather I'm imagining what I'm floating!
Floats my desire to the sea, the desire of dive myself into it. Inpinges me the feeling of the "cannot",
feel that has got now the name of "time".
Now it has turned the darkness and turns to drain the sensation, and turns the gloom and
turn the sinister singings,
return to repeat all,
my goodness!
All and all and all my sorrows!
Fears that repeat themselves as the history, fashions,
written singings, discords.
These miraculous and blunt sensations come back to float.
Face of the mirror,
start dispelling and go far away, already I'm not afraid of you, shade,
already I cannot distinguish you across the darkness.
Don't show again these black brands,
I know that you have started to cry.
The curtains of the plutonic night are turning and is coming back this sensation,
that of the gone days,
that perhaps
fruit of an invention of my subconscious.
From these impious disaster that follows me without cut me some slack,
transporter of what continues,
of what it continues burning of unconquered form up to the bottom of my chest.
Intrepid sensation that is square, and
cold as a black manikin.
My being is what floats,
what floats perhaps on the space and I,
I can't see clearly now from this high promontory,
really from this highs I cannot see anything,
there's a dark fog that blinds me.
The light's bulb is getting dim and this sensation returns every night and
always, always, always is there! Why! Why! Why!
It is always over me!
With its fulminating appearance! With the fulminating appearance of the same demon!
A blind, deaf, mute, one-armed and silent demon that still and that will be anf
that really will be
watching me.
YOU ARE READING
Words Of Wasp
PoésieFar between sundown's finish and midnight's broken toll. We ducked inside the doorways, thunder went crashing. As majestic bells of bolts struck shadows in the sounds. Seeming to be the chimes of freedom flashing.
