Bleeding The Illusion Poem by Lucas Akkadian
Bleeding The Illusion
I rose from a wasted sleep
with Neitzschean hymns still echoing
as if they'd been my lullabies
And it would seem the clouds
that so amiably had dimmed vapid rays
Are rallied in a front behind my back.
And bitter memories like tombstones
stand so cold and silent;
A laryngectimized living still life,
or mute caricature of a history
doomed to repeat forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/6/2026 8:15:03 AM # rel_20260803T153344Z_4267e77
