How long this gray?
The encroaching mists shrouding lambent eyes
of unseen demons peering over a crimson moon.
Madam Memory,
wretched creature of fantasy.
When to be free of your loathsome slavery?
From captivating peaks of supple breasts,
that never cradled a heart...
When should a spirit set sail
for distant seas devoid of sorrow's blood?
—essence untainted by cackling devils.
How long this gray?
—of despotic demons leering from suffocated skies
with deepening mists shrouding malevolent eyes.
Tell me,
precious Memory unkind,
why so slowly does a spool of time unwind?
Keith E Sparks Jr.
Copyright © 2004, 2019
Written in 2004, Later appeared in "Facets" 2019
Utilizing loosely translated lines from Charles Baudelaire’s poem
“Le Lethe”
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