Imagining of Literature

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.