Ghost Of The River Park
© Surazeus
2018 07 02
Your ghost is the emptiness of your life,
the blueberries the blindness of your eyes,
the fluttering leaves the muteness of your voice,
the babbling stream the echo of your laughter.
While sitting in the indifferent twilight,
I feel you approach the chair where I sit
so I turn around, heart beating with joy,
and wake alone with the blank television.
You were always around for thirty years
so I feel you still, everywhere I go,
and you still speak to me inside my head,
and I still explain to you what I do.
You smile at me and call me by my name
from flash of every mirror I ignore
since I know I will never be the same
though I always pause in each empty door.
While sitting on the park bench with your ghost
I gaze at the root of the chestnut tree
and become one with the root of the world
for it curls through the tendrils of my brain.
Wandering nowhere, I lean on the lamp post,
and think about the soul of liberty,
and the abyss where the angel was hurled
who dared question the nature of the rain.
I will never forget you so I look
every day at the photo of your face
to remember the secret of the book
that sparks awake the spirit of this place.
How many numberless years pass away
since I last called you the Hyacinth Girl,
though I wander the Lauterbrunnen Valley,
still searching for the glimmer of your eyes?
When I stand by the waterfall of tears,
I feel the kiss of your lips on my soul
in every sparkling water drop of light
that contains one galaxy in its heart.
Everywhere I go your ghost follows me
for your absence haunts me with sad desire
like crystal ball through which I see the world
as we described it in the tales we shared.
You are not sorrow and you are not death
since you are the glow of my every breath
that causes my heart to beat with the tune
of raindrops splashing on my upturned face.
So I care not if the world burns in war
to overthrow the tyrant of our land,
for I hesitate in the silent door
at the icy grip of the sudden hand.
© Surazeus
2018 07 02
Your ghost is the emptiness of your life,
the blueberries the blindness of your eyes,
the fluttering leaves the muteness of your voice,
the babbling stream the echo of your laughter.
While sitting in the indifferent twilight,
I feel you approach the chair where I sit
so I turn around, heart beating with joy,
and wake alone with the blank television.
You were always around for thirty years
so I feel you still, everywhere I go,
and you still speak to me inside my head,
and I still explain to you what I do.
You smile at me and call me by my name
from flash of every mirror I ignore
since I know I will never be the same
though I always pause in each empty door.
While sitting on the park bench with your ghost
I gaze at the root of the chestnut tree
and become one with the root of the world
for it curls through the tendrils of my brain.
Wandering nowhere, I lean on the lamp post,
and think about the soul of liberty,
and the abyss where the angel was hurled
who dared question the nature of the rain.
I will never forget you so I look
every day at the photo of your face
to remember the secret of the book
that sparks awake the spirit of this place.
How many numberless years pass away
since I last called you the Hyacinth Girl,
though I wander the Lauterbrunnen Valley,
still searching for the glimmer of your eyes?
When I stand by the waterfall of tears,
I feel the kiss of your lips on my soul
in every sparkling water drop of light
that contains one galaxy in its heart.
Everywhere I go your ghost follows me
for your absence haunts me with sad desire
like crystal ball through which I see the world
as we described it in the tales we shared.
You are not sorrow and you are not death
since you are the glow of my every breath
that causes my heart to beat with the tune
of raindrops splashing on my upturned face.
So I care not if the world burns in war
to overthrow the tyrant of our land,
for I hesitate in the silent door
at the icy grip of the sudden hand.
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