My common sense in those portions which
were already running like analogies-
now as if by chance- my watch, gradual
sins, and in some cases perhaps great
shadows full of thankfulness flashing
like neon nightborn Gods for a time.
A notion occurred to me that a
presence was following me. Do you
see the gulf that sun will
eventually fall? Year after year
flashed between the two minutes
as the sun ceased to be at the
foot of the mountain, and the
leg of the parts ring with blood
red bands. These circles enveloped
tigermen heated by the lifting of
a great wisdom learned from
those wild and fantastic forces
that make the Gods-
dayborn
or
nightborn-
appear so small.
The eyes covering the forest
closed covering the shadowy
fire seeking internal guidance.
I knew I should pray to the
forgotten things in
forgotten ways as the faint
whistles of boats and the murmur of
lost coastlines- where no sound
should ever be.
I was so near to what I sought-
or was it the eerie influence of
this place? I will broadcast over
the grey immensity of the ocean
for hope of honor among the
weeds. I gazed across the waste
of wild grasses underneath the
willows. I heard the ceaseless
beating of rain- wishing I had
the keys. The milk of the sun
in its own way stirred in me
a blossom that quickly closed
again the days and nights
spread out forming a trivial
modern song forming a trashy
appearance of a tail, and the
sky a glowing copper hue. A
barrel organ plays in the
temple in the distance an
ode to the dusky ones.
Nerves quivering in that
uncertain light in a
playground of lesser men
as the horizon rolled up
before the dim white faces
peering out from the forest.
VOices assure me in whispers
that I have been deceived.
There is no doubt an analogy
between the days and nights
spread out, and the wind
putting a hound on my trail.
The importance of all this
breeds a strange dawn that
I could not escape free
from the heaven the dayborn
Gods had made.
Matt's Potential Poetry Blog 