Poetry by Vladimir Fischer
Photo by Marek Studzinski
“Fear is Lost…”
I could be a demon
grow ugly fangs and claws
with sharp horns
across the forehead,
piling up the words
that are squeezed with poison
from the viper’s mouth.
This image haunts me in the puddle
lassoing inside
to a place where the fire burns eternal,
healing and rebuilding split souls,
melted hearts and sad eyes
that gave up the ability to cry.
Fear is lost
inside the untold catacombs,
where tired mining folk
are searching for their own.
Thirst is quenched with alcohol in here,
and dark souls cleansed with unforgiving
weight of barrels filled with tears
and tentacles of fire slashing skin,
rebuilding vanished jitter.
Placing lava on lips,
lighting up the cigarette with it
breathe in, the eternal sunset
table with the view, the room is booked,
stretch out and think of the future
my silly humor.
Poetry by Vladimir Fischer
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