When we awake from the mist
I am in shadow,
the perambulance of
grief revisited,
till the lengthening toombstone
dwarfs hyperion-
a sculptors cast ,my shell my heart
The gestapo of faith revisited
that others may from my net
Dream sweet prision free-
psychedelic arrest eclipsing
aeons lost fears.
The secret of the hate filled chamber
green gas ,green light &
mercy all,
cracking under boot
ribs target
sheltering from a fathers love.
Were you or I to slumber
nor stir in walking shade
what nets of love entomb us
lest we rise-
the shining ,the living yet are gone
earth's first wake
Yet quickened beyond eyes recognition
The silver sash my silence brings;
a field soughed deep and empty
a fitting palace
for a king
The denseless hollows of my tears
or yet unvapoured from the ground
the shadow of the sky appears
enshrined
in rainbow's fallen glass.
If a child is not a fallen god
- why so unquiet and shallow the grave
that holds the brave emancipator
in such a gentle grasp .
Till in death we meet asunder
apart can never live
a blossom as in winter hangs its head
so a laurel wreath astutely made our measure
must be cast...
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 7:29 AM UTC
When we awake from the mist
I am in shadow,
the perambulance of
grief revisited,
till the lengthening toombstone
dwarfs hyperion-
a sculptors cast ,my shell my heart
The gestapo of faith revisited
that others may from my net
Dream sweet prision free-
psychedelic arrest eclipsing
aeons lost fears.
The secret of the hate filled chamber
green gas ,green light &
mercy all,
cracking under boot
ribs target
sheltering from a fathers love.
Were you or I to slumber
nor stir in walking shade
what nets of love entomb us
lest we rise-
the shining ,the living yet are gone
earth's first wake
Yet quickened beyond eyes recognition
The silver sash my silence brings;
a field soughed deep and empty
a fitting palace
for a king
The denseless hollows of my tears
or yet unvapoured from the ground
the shadow of the sky appears
enshrined
in rainbow's fallen glass.
If a child is not a fallen god
- why so unquiet and shallow the grave
that holds the brave emancipator
in such a gentle grasp .
Till in death we meet asunder
apart can never live
a blossom as in winter hangs its head
so a laurel wreath astutely made our measure
must be cast...
1993