say what?

by Ross Vassilev

there'll be no white elephants
crossing my path

the I may be an illusion
but all poets seek fame and glory

the I may be an illusion
but the memories in my head are real

and the anger and the rage
are all too real

I'll lay myself down in the nectar
of the black rose of night

and maybe the Gods will visit me
bearing a thousand gifts

or maybe just one gift
red as a plum

and when the world finally drowns
in the last great flood

maybe my salvation
will be in others' suffering.