Friday, November 27, 2015

Richard Schnap- Three Poems


I remember their eyes
Windows that revealed
Cold empty rooms
Lit by dwindling candles

And I remember their lips
Muttering the words
Of childlike songs
Set to funereal music

And I remember their hands
Clutching the remains
Of scavenged cigarettes
And cheap bags of dope

But I forget their names
For they’d invent new ones
Aliases to deceive
The harvester of souls


In the evenings I’d sit
On the balcony and watch
Trains slowly passing
On the nearby tracks

While inside my wife
Shed her heavenly costume
Revealing the serpent
That lurked deep inside

And as her rage grew
Like a gathering tempest
The men on the boxcars
Would wave and smile

As I waved back and wished
I could somehow join them
To be carried away from
The fangs of my night


I remember the crimson candles
Set in their shining brass sconces
The dark and brooding landscapes
Shot through with a lukewarm light
The shelves of books of wisdom
Penned by the world’s great authors
Forbidden to ever be opened
Like tombs that were sealed shut

And I remember the windows
Covered with layers of curtains
To impede any rays of sunlight
From finding their way within
For this was the house of shadow
Reflecting the mind of its master
A man who built an empire
As dark as his endless night

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