Hallelujah of the Confectionery
Hallelujah of the Confectionery
Hallelujah of the confectionery hallelujah of the parks and empty movie theaters,
the lovers are no longer the beautiful lovers of yesteryear,
honest and pure and eager for wine from cups of pure crystal,
in their backpacks they have hidden the hideous masks of this dead world.
You took from me my life my famous overcoat gray as morning fog,
you stole it and tore it thirstily into pieces small and large,
and the rags you threw into a street alley dumpster,
from which they haven't been picked up even today after decades lived.
With the flesh and with the blood the understanding rags of youth,
eternal youths that die each day being reborn older,
and when evening will descend over the city like a blanket of lead,
we will count ourselves and see that we are fewer and fewer now.
We those who know the true color of the violet twilight,
and of love that burns in black illuminating the radiant darkness,
the strange glory of our deeds from yesterday that didn't happen,
and the uncomforting of our memories from tomorrow that will not come.
From the claw of the one who births we are pulled out like eagle chicks,
hallelujah of the confectionery where sweetness is bitter as molten green iron,
lovers wear hideous masks beneath their false beautiful faces,
and their backpacks are full of secrets heavy as dead stones.
You took from me the gray overcoat of my identity voracious and cruel life,
you tore it with your sharp teeth into irregular pieces that float,
my rags lie in dumpsters like flags of defeat,
the understanding rags that know youth is eternal through death.
Evening descends over the city like a hand that squeezes the throat slowly,
we count ourselves and we are fewer and fewer—we vanish like smoke in air,
we those who know the true color not the artificially painted one,
of the twilight that is not red but electric violet with traces of living ash.
And of love that is not pink but phosphorescent green in deep darkness,
the strange glory of yesterday's deeds that no longer exist except in dream,
the uncomforting of tomorrow's memories that await us to live them,
from the claw of the one who births we are pulled out and thrown into the world naked.
Hallelujah of the parks where trees have forgotten to grow upward,
hallelujah of the movie theaters where films play backwards in time,
lovers are no longer honest—they've become actors in their own life,
in backpacks they have hidden the masks they wear when they sleep at night.
You took my famous gray overcoat and transformed it into rags,
but the rags understand more than the whole garment ever understood,
they know that youth is eternal because it dies each day being reborn,
and when evening descends we count ourselves and we are fewer and fewer alive.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
