I had you once
caught in the moment
between sunrise
and when my fucked up eyes could
open
allowing the morning to
stream into grey scale spaces
graining the surface of optic nerve
Hell is a sparrow
tumbling from the branch.
Feathers
can not break the fall.
Wings will not bring saviours
hymns and harps strumming
the eternal host is not coming
to lend
a hand
to land upon.
Bones are brittle
hollowed by the men with pipes
and illustrations of
the past
winding into their eyes
drawing stories of the sun and sea
upon wrinkled cheeks.
When they finally speak
the words
become carved wooden craft
let loose upon cobalt waters
adrift
and shifting through dimensions
whispering the tales of lovers
and Gods together
how mortal and immortal
can create worlds and sky scapes
with sex
and lawless passions
scrawled upon
the cheeks of old men with pipes.
I had you once
Encased in amber
a millennium passing
in the press of a kiss.
Tomorrow is a chick
mouth agape
impatient
for succour
as we strive to reach the nest
5 comments:
Yes, I like the revision better. And I think we'd better get out of each other's heads, because yesterday I wrote about grayscale mornings and birds. I'm always oddly warmed and spooked out by your prophetic writing, my friend. Keep up the good work. :) It's amazing.
Heck, I can't find your email again. Chris, will you ever expand on the lullaby poem from the end of May? Or maybe do another similar to that one?
It's by far my favorite poem of yours.
Interesting you bring up that piece Bridget, I honestly think its one of the best things I have done also.
Expanding upon it, wow, that would be a difficult task, its so encapsulated, the whole image and feel.
But, I like a challenge *smile*, leave it with me for a while , I will mull it over and see what comes
thanks again
Chris
Remarkable poem Chris. I especially like the stanza about amber.
Hiya Sandy *smile*, nice to see/hear you again, glad you enjoyed it.
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