Dream Note 17 –Royal Supper

In a dark mist, the blind treads,
in good conscience they pray for light.
What pitiful soul would hear their sighs,
in this unholy land of unreserved blight?

Calmly, my friend and I stroll,
by the little river along this familiar road,
across the stone bridges where the palace stands,
inside the gates her chandeliers behold.

Post our affairs a supper awaits,
on the table, lay three, six, or eight plates,
a stray phantom his blazers hang,
my regal comport the clock plagues.

In the palace garden the headless runs,
without guilt for blood they demand.
Self-mutilated souls atop this pitiless earth;
a mordant affair of hare hunting stags.

Published in: on 23/01/2021 at 2:50 PM  Leave a Comment  
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