SOLO FOR A MAD KING - Cordelia

Pieza de Norbert Servos

Galeria

SOLO FOR A MAD KING - Cordelia

Lears Monologue

Now at the end
sleep plays in my hair
the dream has gone the memory again
to bed lays stone to stone the quick begetting
was betrayal no feast crowned with flowers stood I
pale the blushing/shame of the words pain rushed to me
the fear/dread bore from dreary flanks
a little light fell slanting on the ashes of your lips
body in which I clenched my lust I know it well
I was the other shadow pressed

into your womb my alien flesh buried
in your vastness I longed to sing there is no
bond between the fathers and the sons no
bond which held me torn is the cord
I longed to sing then of what ebbs and flows
in undivided stream coming and going/coming and going
I was no-one just another shadow at your side
shame in the words I drove stakes deep
in my flesh to eat my heart I sought
the time within your skin was I the time
which came not passed an endless night as one
the ruins of a dream forgot my flesh stands naked
before a house/a house that was our house
and under seven seals is silent every word
unspoken from my mouth is rotten
to the ash we are to ashes we become
I and you be gone I give you back
to time torn is the bond in every room
our house in flames fathers go naked and
blind the sons a trace of blood behind me
trails like worn out shoes tears
I do not cry out of my father’s skin am I
made a poured out empty vessel nothing
in my hands wasted a desert place unborn
no mother’s child who spat me out
from gory flanks to which I turn
from the begetters hands dead his death
my fortune from my first steps his bareness
clothed in unfeeling snow he rammed the thorn
into my breast he took the breath shame with the words
he gave to me I who am I a voiceless shadow someone else
no longer at your side be gone of me
nothing remains but of my heart a tiny piece
I eat unshared I eat alone consuming
piece by piece till all is gone inter myself
in very sleep like any cur the heap
of dreams who can forget not I
the fires of return who will put out not I
will laugh nor cry now at the end
sleep plays in my hair

Norbert Servos