BEWITCHED DREAMER


Nobody knows you…

You are invisible
Throughout the night of the day…

Enslaved by obtrusive feelings,
You are the drowsy paranoid voice
That never ceases humming
Underwater…

But your chantey commences
Only after it reaches an end…

You poor bewitched dreamer!

You run and bow,
And cast new spells
Upon the icons of the dead,
And step upon the autumn leaves
That lure you into
The dream of the undreamed;

And to such treachery,
Poor mortal,
You fall on your knees
Before the Cathedral of Deceit
And remain motionless and frightened
At the thought that…
This truth is not another of your
Mischievous beliefs!

And nobody knows you…

Oh, poor moth among
A choir of
Sleeping angels…

Impatient as a dying ember,
You writhe in myths of lying voices;

Your rifle is remembrance only…
Remembrance encoded on the surface
Of a decayed river of paper flowers…

Your innocence – a wreath of roses…
The saddest ones the blind have ever seen…


Copyrighted © Sorana Salomeia, Iasi, Romania