THE HUMAN ANVIL

Tag: dream

  • The Serenade Surrendered


    I know what it means to be
    A man without a memory
    What I see: I see
    What I feel: I feel
    In the moment of me
    I keep a forever concealed

  • Shipwrecked

    Chained to the dust
    With my own lock and key
    I was standing by the tide;
    Remembering the sea

  • Pulp

    I dream of dry oceans
    And suckling on burnt milk
    From the seeds long sowed
    Upon the shores of homeless towns
    Waiting to flower
    Once more
    At the sunrise

  • Verbatim

    There is steel in my eyes
    And the world with its tuning fork lies
    Asking me to mourn along
    Knows nothing
    Of that cold, hard touch
    For I am no maker nor master
    But only a thinking man
    One step away from disaster

  • Through The Lips Of Living Ghosts

    I live my life
    Through those who lived before me
    And triumphed,
    For mine are eggshell victories
    Inchoate brush strokes of the blind
    Left behind, listening to the faceless sounds
    Dreamt by dead branches and wayside stones
    Alone in their darkness
    Wherein all ashes intone
    The pleasure of being burned alive
    Only to never feel, another touch of life.

  • The Duet Of The Dunes

    They who question themselves
    Do not answer to others
    And they who answer to all
    Cannot question on their own
    Thus we human stray
    Mephistopheles now led by Faust
    Laying markers on the way
    Though oneself being as lost

  • Opaque

    I dream of a man dreaming:
    Only to awake and find
    A mirror in my hand

  • Dreamer’s Dream

    I go searching on a deserted street
    A river breathing and hissing
    Like milk from melted moon
    But only the shadows are awake
    Drowning in silver lake
    That Sfumato lagoon
    Reflecting the roots of paradise
    A silence more verbose
    Than that of a breathing statue;
    Standing one step less of the precipice
    Yet hovering over the horizon
    Wingless, blind to the bottom
    Of an everlasting yawn that
    Morpheus divined in a dream while
    Walking on a deserted street
    With a burning candle in high noon
    In search of river breathing and hissing
    Like milk from melted moon