The Dead One Ecstatic, Charles Baudelaire

In a grass of filled, all land with snails
I wanted to dig a massive ditch where
I leisurely could spread my old bones
And, forgetful, sleep as a shark in wave.

I hate last testament and despise tombs;
Instead of begging the world for a tear,
Living, I would rather invite the crows
To bleed all the ends of my great corpse:

Lines worm, black companions with no eyes’ sight,
See how your free and joyful death arrives;
Breathing philosophers, paintings’ sons,

Cross my destruction now with no regrets
And tell me if it’s still an act of torture
For old frame souless & dead amongst the dead.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s