The house surealism made By aldo kraas, www.PoetryPoem.com/poet11586 Unlock all Features - Upgrade to Poetry Prime
The house surrealism made
was already a haunted one
It already existed in the art
that floated through history
It could be argued that language
that is empty of words is no
language at all, this illustrates
the absurdist proposition, that
nothing is true, and everything is
permitted, surrealism starts at
this conjunction, words in themselves
hold no meaning, if the greatest poem
ever written, was lost in a war or a fire
before anybody read it, would it still exist
and it would, as it was written by the one
who wrote it, thus it exists, yet it did not
make it to the mind of the ones who would
read it, we would not regard this as absurd
it is a question of what forces move around
the actual act of putting pen to page, for
the purpose of allowing aplay on words
to let the wordsplay across the mind field
the forces work through the words at play
in the fields of the lord, the one who sits
in the chair of the healer of what hails us
at once surrealism is the object itself and
the background of being, it is the jeweled mask
and the face of wind that blows from its eyes
it is the sun at the center of the ball of mirrors
it's the haunted house made by the art of time
it is the table set for the gaudy ghosts who have
arrived at the witching hour to host the feast of
the senseless senses, to materialize into the body
of the poet who resides in the closet of the conscious
or travels from the middle of nowhere, to the city of
mazes, who wander through the alleys of miracles, of
tears that have fallen the impossible skies, our infinite
sadness, that we paint the outrageous night with the stars
of our longing, our destination unknown, shores unreached
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