v.4 Lost Isle, Last Idea

[alonso ramoran]

Lost Isle, Last Idea

What use does memory possess,
before retiring in this bed of matter,
beyond directing 
the dispersal of perception
into other dreams
always forgotten?

All the remembering
was never meant to capture waves,
our belly laughter, the palm fronds
rustling, the seagulls calling
over wind. Yet, against wind, 
I've constructed and renewed towers
and boulevards and monuments
in the name of names
I can't remember.

By evening, after the bloodshed 
of questioning existence, 
like men with sin
limping through a wasteland,
last questions remain.

Are dreams real in the sense
that they occurred, as the lights
of extinct and extant things in space
have kindled myths?

Why leave the earth to roam the stars?
This body is tired
and in that glittering expanse
above is the trail
it leaves behind.

v.3 Lost Isle, Last Idea

What use does memory possess,
before retiring in this bed of matter,
beyond directing the dispersal of perception
into other dreams
always forgotten?

All the remembering
was never meant to capture waves,
our belly laughter, the palm fronds rustling,
the seagulls calling over wind.
Yet, against wind, I've constructed
and renewed towers
and boulevards and monuments
in the name of names
I can't remember.

By evening, after
the bloodshed of questioning
existence, like men
limping with sin through wasteland,
last questions still remain.

Are dreams also real in the sense
that they occurred, as the lights
of extinct and extant things in space
have kindled myths?

Was their distance ever out of reach?
Perhaps I have already been
and that glittering expanse above
is only what is behind.


v.2 Lost Isle, Last Idea

What use does memory possess,
before retiring in this bed of matter,
beyond directing the dispersal of perception
into another dream
to be forgotten?

All the remembering
was never meant to capture
waves, our belly laughter, the palm fronds
brushing against each other, yet I've built
towers and boulevards and monuments
in the name of names
I can't remember.

By evening, after
the violence of questioning
existence, like men
limping with sin through wasteland,
last questions still remain.

Are dreams real, too, in the sense
that they occurred? Like how extinct
and extant lights of space kindled myths?

Was the distance ever out of reach?
Perhaps it has already been traveled
and the glittering expanse above
is only what is behind.


v.1 Lost Isle, Last Idea

What use does memory possess,
before retiring to this bed of matter,
beyond directing the dispersal of perception
into another dream
to be forgotten?

All the remembering
was never meant to capture
waves, our belly laughter, and the palm fronds
brushing against each other, yet I have built
towers and boulevards and monuments
in the name of names
soon dead to our descendants.

By evening, after
the violence of questioning
existence, like men
limping with sin through wasteland,
last questions still remain.

Are dreams real, too, in the sense
that they occurred? Like how the extinct
and extant lights of space kindled myths?

Was the distance ever out of reach?
Perhaps it has already been traveled
and the glittering expanse above
is only what is behind.