Time sinks deep into mind,
moon-nourished garden,
holy putrescence
dark intimations
of their one essence,
Chime brinks sleep a find
pestilential seethings,
Old is brain - Sold this as insane
and dream so to reap,
unhallowed innocence,
metempsychosis,
snowy-plumed presence,
Rhymes begot of aged dead dove
whose wings are not angels' things.
Low and down now,
area of darkness
strange ecstasies,
arcana primalness,
then brought forth
by farmer's plow
So to feed
pharmacopeia
a seed from lying dead
to keep the dying fed.
Peace to go as resting long
feeling as if you did belong,
For time sinks deep
and if saved from the plower
dreams will deny the sleep
with roots from you there comes a flower
Resting blind and thinking they are
within the bowels the garden bower.
c FJM
Author notes
Image above I have always loved
and the art school of Symbolism;
Poem is of perhaps of her state
here and its origins,
SOMAnticism.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Nightmares of pleasure yet remorseful in the end. Two who desire find death instead. To love someone to death is the ultimate idea, yet receiving the soul of another, leaves the troll on top but still ugly as ever. To plant a garden such as this breeds only food of evil that grows within the soul of primal instincts yet kills the mortal soul. The poem and image is much more than I can really digest. lol Creepy and kind of sticks within this poet's thoughts. A true nightmare. Good luck in this contest.
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