BAUDELAIRE TOUJOURS

 

                                                                                 

 

Spleen LXVIII

 

After Baudelaire 

 

 

When the sky weighs heavy and worn like a lid 

On the oppressed spirit prey to depression, 

And when the horizon too embraces its circumference 

It will then grant us a day as dark as any night. 

 

When the earth is transformed into a humid cell 

Where hope, like some scattered bat, departs 

Ricocheting off the walls with timid wings 

And dashes its head against the rotting ceiling. 

 

When the rain spreads its immense jurisdiction 

Like some vast liquid prison with fluid bars, 

And whole clusters of mute arachnid 

Come to lay their eggs in the deepest recesses of your heart. 

 

Bells suddenly will peal out in a fury 

And throw into the sky their atrocious tolling, 

Just as the spirits of the damned, without any culture, 

Start to opine on social media.