(21) The Sorrows of Young Writer Outside of A Time Continuum

Forgive, O Lord, my little jokes on Thee
And I'll forgive Thy great big one on me.

 

Frost

 

Somewhere outside of a time continuum

 

Dear Friend,

 

I might start a new chapter. The nights are haunting me. Stories unfolding behind the curtain cannot to be grasped with a prose. If a prose celebrates life, the poetry celebrates all that lies outside of it. Here is a thought before my story continues in prose.

 

 

The Phantom

 

The night was dark and I was tired

sitting in my chair, the room is quiet

I wanted to dream, dared to try it

to leave my mind roaming free

transforming vision into reality.

 

As a nightmare tightly squeezes my whole body,

the time around me freezes, and my eyes get wet,

at that moment I neglect the heaviness of what is random,

because; right beside me there sits a phantom.

 

'I greet you phantom!' I whisper to it,

'I see you came, before I knew it!'

It looks me in the eye and says nothing to me.

'I may have seen you when the days were gloomy...'

I continue my confession but phantom has no intention

to have a lovely evening chatter,

it is here to kill, as it knows no better.

 

We sit here and I say 'I am lost quite frankly!'

It looks at me and says: 'Do you resent me?'

- 'How could I, dear phantom, you're my guest!'

- 'Well then grasp: I will put your mind at rest!'

What those words meant I couldn't know

so I thought this is the end, the end of all.

 

Outside my door a storm is raging,

the phantom next to me, we both are aging,

with every thunder our hair gets grayer

so phantom says: 'It's time, let's hear your prayer!'

- 'Pardon me sir, what do you imply?'

I ask him as my throat gets dry.

 

'You must know that your dreams are viscous!'

-'I admit that sweetness tastes so delicious!'

It asks me then: 'Are you being facetious?'

I rebut: 'Don't I have the right to be capricious?'

How dare I opposing the phantom?

It is the truth coming from the holy sanctum!

 

Phantom looks at me one last time and utters no word,

the storm rages on but it is far and blurred

by the noise of the quiet that interrupts only the breathing

that keeps me alive under this very ceiling.

I say 'Goodbye dear phantom, I need you not!'

Phantom leaves and I forgot…of the evening plot,

only at times when I close my eyes,

I see a phantom in disguise.