River of Liquid Glass

"River of Liquid Glass" weaves a vivid tapestry of surreal and ethereal imagery, seamlessly blending whimsy with profundity to evoke a dreamlike journey.

In the garden of flickering neon trees,

where shadows dance with marionette leaves,

I met a man with a clockwork heart

and eyes like prisms, tearing time apart.

He whispered secrets in a language of static,

his voice a symphony of glitches and clicks,

telling tales of constellations uncharted,

and love letters written in binary scripts.

We wandered through a labyrinth of velvet mist,

where fish flew by on currents of twilight,

and the moon sang lullabies to sleeping stars,

cradled in the arms of endless night.

I found a river of liquid glass,

where thoughts flowed like mercury streams,

reflecting the dreams of forgotten gods,

and the echoes of interstellar dreams.

A carousel spun in an abandoned carnival,

each horse a phantom of forgotten lore,

and as I rode, the world unraveled,

a tapestry of surrealist decor.

In the distance, a cathedral of crystal,

its spires piercing the fabric of reality,

and inside, a choir of silent voices,

harmonizing in spectral duality.

When dawn broke, the mirage faded,

leaving only a trace of whispered winds,

and I awoke, clutching fragments of visions,

in the realm where the surreal begins.

:: 05.17.2024 ::

Author's Note

The poem "River of Liquid Glass" belongs to the genre of surrealist poetry. Surrealist poetry often features dreamlike, fantastical imagery, and a blending of the whimsical with the profound. This poem exemplifies these characteristics through its vivid, imaginative descriptions and its exploration of a world where reality and fantasy intertwine.

Reviews

[John Sullivan]

Yikes, Mr. Robles. I feel this one. As a person who suffers from paranoid schizophrenia I feel like the man with the clockwork heart.... visions and static. Great stuff, EP. Cheers

[E.P. Robles]

I wonder. I do. I was pondering a dream I had 2 years ago and a series to follow. The place was like M.C. escher's drawings. I was looking at the stars while thinking of that dream and a voice from no where said, "That's two strikes."