end of the sabotage

[revolutionrabbit]

It is no different when I first read Rimbaud
so long ago yet not so long ago
the time it took to read that first poem by R
to the time I am still reading it now
the poem held me in its grip of grains
one by one the words filled my vision
just as it was then as it is now still reading
that poem

everything is as it was, as it will be
I travel to the end of the sabotage of my rebel
I thought one can only write in the shadow
of those lines penned by the romantics frantic
the original decadents those eaters of hashish
the assassins of the sun rise murdering the dawn

daggers of the imagination drawn
this is who I follow down those snaking alleys
into the face of the bloody stranger
standing at the end of the long passage
haunted and hunted through the centuries

leaving hard bitten words scrawled in the flesh
of our dreams, in the scars of our desires
written in lantern lights beside the road of a tongue
oh how they sung their dark refrains in the dismal drizzle
in the great river of the gutter dripping into the sea of pain

gulping gasps of ghostly breath against a deadly window pane
drinking in the darkness of oblivion like devil fire in the veins
and they find them in the morning of the magicians sprawled
in the graveyard like drunken sods in their Gothic horror nods

[dadio]

Never read him, well a poem or two in translation. Good take on this, enjoyed

[revolutionrabbit]

Of course it's not just Rimbaud, it's all those dark posts that follow in their foot steps.