My overwhelming solemnity;
brown fields of Spring-time withering.
Nostalgia, be riddled,
by life,
before none;
sweet candy sour,
as the taste on my gums.
Pale, empty vessels of our spirit,
said one,
A final embrace from the Mother -
to son-
the end of a turn,
of a wheel just begun.
Find - now - in a moment,
the peace,
and the sun;
- don't cry under moon crests,
don't weep for high tides -
for,
but laughter
and sorrow
and joy found in love
shall Wake us each morning,
blood found in our bodies,
our hearts and our lungs.
The present is written,
The past is still sung,
The future a distance,
a lion unroped.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 11:15 PM UTC
My overwhelming solemnity;
brown fields of Spring-time withering.
Nostalgia, be riddled,
by life,
before none;
sweet candy sour,
as the taste on my gums.
Pale, empty vessels of our spirit,
said one,
A final embrace from the Mother -
to son-
the end of a turn,
of a wheel just begun.
Find - now - in a moment,
the peace,
and the sun;
- don't cry under moon crests,
don't weep for high tides -
for,
but laughter
and sorrow
and joy found in love
shall Wake us each morning,
blood found in our bodies,
our hearts and our lungs.
The present is written,
The past is still sung,
The future a distance,
a lion unroped.
Draft
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