My Memories are Vultures

They seek a decaying corpse

Lying in a lush green field

Of forget-me-knots

To tear its flesh apart and

Build a nest оf sun-dried bones

Which would hold white illusions

Of my days that are to come

My Fancy drinks the corpse’s blood

And Grins to ask : “You want some more?”

“Yes!”, I scream, “Yes!”

“Revive that ugly monstrous flesh

And fill the void that held the eye

And give the blood back to the heart

And color back the death-ful hair.”

“Let us dance once more through the endless field,

Drink the odor of a cloudless summer,

Or naked swim among the soft sun-rays,

Until our senses are but scattered dull,

‘Till intoxicated with ecstasy

We fall laughing, stupid with happiness.”

But Fancy would not have it so,

O! The blood dripping off her smile

It kills the flowers at her feet.

Imagining of Literature