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Breon Aug 20
the firmament of heaven
will vouchsafe each celestial light
save one

when dusk steals it all again
leaving those forlorn stars so far away
and us down here in the dark

i will turn my weary eyes to you
the blessed candle-flame of you
and know your light despite the night
Breon Feb 3
to ache for death
like a hole drilled in a tooth
like the rot set in, waiting for truth
to scrub out the gangrene and rot

like remains from an empty shell, like the fouling after the primer's strike,
like the war cry after the speaker's voice
finds a live mike

and everything falls short.
The finish line runs away.
How sweet it is
To be left behind.
Breon Oct 2019
High truth for a high court?
Ha! I'd like to see it
Down here, where the doubting
Dowsers and diviners
Give away their gifted
Gimlet bits of wisdom,
Scraping for escape and
Scared of what they're saying.

Dream a little dream of
Dreary hours, sleeping,
Finding where the fire
Fries a firefly like
Loving something lovely
Loves yourself inside it
'Til the timer's ticking
Tells you you're done cooking.
I think these are technically supposed to be self-contained. Oops.
Breon Aug 2019
How could I spend myself, seed, root, and gardener,
To someday look up and see the tree grown from me?
This is a vital self-deception, a delusion of choice,
Less a plea and more a deliverance.
Who should carry me forward through history?
What shoulders ought to bear the weight of
This ponderous name, this mouthful of dirt?
What could ever have grown in this garden
But weeds and thorns and bitter poison?
In this fulgurite waste, stricken by some God,
There's no hope but the barrel of His gun.
What monster could feed this to a child?
Better an ever-fallow field than a compost grave.
We desperately want to have children. I don't know how we'll ever have the time or money or resources or energy to do it. I don't know how to justify having children, ethically.
Breon Aug 2019
What could we do, but
Reach out and defy rapture
As the light took us?
Come the fire, come what remains,
Our dust will be together.
Modern fears require modern coping mechanisms.
Breon Aug 2019
Now I have seen divinity
In clearings wide as all the sky,
All grassy green and riotous:
Long blades a-rattling, aimed at Heaven,
Warring with an unseen wind.

And I have seen futility
As plain as winter's frosty breath,
Where fields of green gave way to death
And skies of blue surrendered, too,
Wrapped up, abandoned in a white tomb.

They'll muster up for war again
When Spring trips in to dance and sin
As if their bellicose endeavors
Ever had a snowball's chance.

And here is Hell, their every movement
Sisyphus against the rock -
Each blade of pristine imperfection
Dances by the wind's design.
I didn't realize I was drawing on Alan Seeger until he was already in the poem. I don't write anything that doesn't end up here. Inspiration is fickle. I need to practice more.
Breon Jul 2019
The summer sun's an auger drilling deep
To sap my will and hasten my decline,
And by the time night falls, I'll pray for sleep.
From when its faintest rays begin to creep
Beyond the long horizon's boundary line,
The summer sun's an auger, drilling deep.
When morning comes, I'll buy my living steep,
But living wilts me 'till I can recline
And by the time night falls, I'll pray for sleep
As if I died, as if I'd get to keep
The scrapings that I'd earned, as if they're mine.
The summer sun's an auger, drilling deep.
Each moment sowing seeds I'll never reap
Comes twisting down around my brain and spine -
And by the time night falls, I'll pray for sleep.
All wisdom, wits, and words ring hollow, cheap,
Some wilted offerings at a broken shrine.
The summer sun's an auger, drilling deep,
And by the time night falls, I'll pray for sleep.
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