Renaissance [poetry]

Poetic Cataclysm

As the poets prophecized, oracles back in time

A little girl there was, in the faubourgs of a rotten town

Lies of fairytales she was fed,

An intimacy to her mundane life she craved.

She pressed flowers in April, underlined poetry in November

Her effervescence never fading, in the eyes of poetry and the Gods above

The crescendo of unkempt promises fed her slow languor-

Her lithe frame defiled, as the moon waned on the illusions she believed.

There is a strange stillness in the depth of the ocean.

Nothing moves, not anymore.

Diablo, sweet diablo

What can I say? You made me a poet too.

February 1, 2022