My Prophetic Spectacle
written by: Katarzyna Koziorowska
The silence that returns
in the most exquisite illusions
is sometimes cursed.
Life, unsuited to eternity,
is too distant to recognize
the way back
to long-winded words.
Loneliness, born of a capricious cry
for more, cherishes this night,
kisses the half-closed eyelid
of the moon.
My prophetic spectacle
manifests itself to the birds
that fear the sky.
I find within myself
that damned renunciation of life,
a lonely tear
I accidentally borrowed
from someone.
My heart, abandoned on the path
to hell, is only an unfinished piece
of a smile,
a monotonous line
to which a lost dream
is worth assigning.
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