WELTSCHMERZ
Flashing erratically between one realm and another,
The tree, at the end of the garden, flits to its dystopian
brother.
They both move between seconds weaved,
epileptically moving and switching through shadows.
Darkness where nightmares reside, unable to leave,
My garden Valhalla, a lifeless meadow.
As if a mirror is wedged across my vision eternally:
One moment green, the next one black.
The tree is fertile and burnt simultaneously,
The fear grows of the different world before turning back.
That is my garden: My microcosm in lyric & word.
This world that is cruel and seemingly blurred.
The fires stalk the corridors and swallow my vision.
They shine in my eyes dead, the world is red with
blood.
Yet you may now think of that dead land a figment,
Fear manifest in trauma.
But that tree in my garden, for water to drink from a
rivulet is what I yearn.
This blackened land; a mirror broken and away from it I
turn.
These lines written from within the constant shade,
my microcosmic cosmos; I seek my perfect glade.
I sight it often in dreams, where I walk for miles and
miles.
I walk in my garden down the paths, towards the trees where
leaves fall in piles.
The sun glistens and winds blow gently as I reach to grab
the orb, in which it waits.
But I can’t fit inside such a small object,
It seals my fate so cruel, full-circle I reach but fall . .
.
And I find myself back at the tree,
sitting calmly and flashing constantly.
My eyes tinted with goodness to imagine greatly,
but seemingly futile as I flit back to reality.
While trapped in this world without a window,
one can always create one through which to view.
What do you see? That is for your sight to behold.
And I wait again but wish luck to you;
Escape this world and through your mirror.
Or maybe you’d prefer that the mirror be broken, to flood
our land to water the tree.
Extinguish the fires and obliterate the nightmares;
I wish you luck’s best, but please tell me how you fare.
No comments:
Post a Comment