It may seem peculiar indeed
To have not paid homage
To this Nightguard of Poetry
But claim me for society's victim
For upon gazing at her ether-omniscient--
White curves encase the infertile desert
As, if you'll recall, her ancient patroness
Her consorts are of far greater interest
(A weak word hiding unspoken depth)
Unique in their millions
And, I find, quite indescribable
Except appropriate to represent that mystery
(It resides among the ugly, fragrant shelves)
Unworded but for breezes and shadows and eternity-swirls
Her mysteries were long drained from that pale, gaping face
And of no great interest.
And somehow I am writing.
Dec 5, 2010
Dec 5, 2010 at 11:16 AM UTC
It may seem peculiar indeed
To have not paid homage
To this Nightguard of Poetry
But claim me for society's victim
For upon gazing at her ether-omniscient--
White curves encase the infertile desert
As, if you'll recall, her ancient patroness
Her consorts are of far greater interest
(A weak word hiding unspoken depth)
Unique in their millions
And, I find, quite indescribable
Except appropriate to represent that mystery
(It resides among the ugly, fragrant shelves)
Unworded but for breezes and shadows and eternity-swirls
Her mysteries were long drained from that pale, gaping face
And of no great interest.
And somehow I am writing.