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Collage: ...That Vanishing Brilliance
by Paul Lastovica
I was walled inside a dream
its walls had no consistency
no weight; its emptiness was its weight
the walls were hours and the hours
sorrow, hoarded forever
the time of those hours was not time
the path that runs on
the trees that remain
the rising light seeks its way
a wavering river that sketches
its doubts and turns them to certainties
a river of dawn across closed eyes
its testaments and prophecies
now turned into melancholy splendor
the seed of the sun ripens
the world is still not real
the forgotten syllables of the beginning
flow without moving
joined and split and joined
a whisper of words that were leaves
in the cave of my skull
a dagger flowered
planted in the middle of nothing
I was silent and the wind spoke
02/17/2016 Author's Note:
Sources:
A Tree Within
Octavio Paz
Translations by: Eliot Weinberger
A Waking
Sight and Touch
10 Lines to Antoni Tapies
Before The Begining
The Dryad War
Posted on 02/18/2016
Copyright © 2024 Paul Lastovica
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 02/18/16 at 08:26 PM Heady stuff Paul. Each wonderfully composed, rich in images and meaning. A pleasure to read. Love the title and closing line: I was silent and the wind spoke |
| Posted by Laura Doom on 02/20/16 at 12:22 AM How could I not drawn into 'melancholy splendor'?
The passing is past, and its nature written to fruition. |
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