"stringed" poems
On the white screen dance the stringed dots
Mind spilled codes of hieroglyphic thoughts
Slowly they emerge handholding lines
Not always yielding intended designs.
Something was brewing inside the head
Coaxing to weave and take it ahead
The drunken horses so wildly gallop
There is no leash to make them stop.
Nerves are taut and they won't relax
Till all is vented they reach the ******
It was thus fated the moment it was sown
What's to be grown could never be known.
As the fever wanes arrives the new child
It may be adored or it may be defiled
The canvas is washed clean as in the rain
Something is brewing to be vented again.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC
Strings, strings, wrapping around porcelain skin,
For why does the bruises not show?
With a waist, hip, and two legs that are so thin,
For why does the skin always glow?
Hair that never sheds, nor grows, nor messes,
For why does the girl not wash it?
With a merry face that still never truly expresses,
For why does the face not show even a slight fit?
Stoic, conjoined, the feet never stomping,
For why does the limbs never feel frostbit?
Perhaps it is a lie that the being is a girl,
As it is only with strings that she can ever twirl.
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 6:43 AM UTC
Sensation, intuition, feeling, and thinking,
Is wrapped inside a ball,
A small pink ball inside our head,
That won't stop till we're dead,
Analytical bedrock inside oozing theories,
Elemental atoms sizzling logic,
The imaginative stranger,
One abstracted and eccentric,
Walking with shadows,
Talking and mocking,
Through these theories inside us,
Tilting our caps ‘til we’re shaking our heads,
Pensive love in storming analysis,
Sapiosexually excited, piqued interest,
Unemotional and thoughtfully attuned,
Absently minded, always condoned,
Unconventional and impartially stringed,
Weirdly wired in auxiliary functions,
Misconstrued and misunderstood,
An ****** intelligence bleeding paranoia,
Knocking unto me,
Into you, inside us all,
It’s something we all yearn to be,
And when you fail and prevail we laugh,
Crickling crickets thinking nothing,
Washing down the storm drain,
With no thoughts fluidly sliding down my throat,
Pop goes no questions into absolute concise words like freshly broken glass,
Again shadows await, but different shadows,
Blinking at me staring at you,
Wondering what’s what, inside this dementia made sense of a lovely afternoon,
Inside your sane, autocorrected, predetermined, twitching, little…mind.
Inspired by Myers Briggs Personality Test
Tyler is INTP... Logician (Introverted INtuitive Thinking Perception)
The drifter, dreamer the absent minded professor!
SassyJ is INTJ... Architect (Introverted INtuitive Thinking Judging)
The starry-eyed idealist manoeuvring life as if a giant chess board!
What Myer Briggs personality type are you?... See link below
It would be great to know.Please comment!!
http://www.16personalities.com/intp-personality
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 10:30 AM UTC
Just a crack in the brick wall
A red rubber ball
The last time you can't remember
When you stood tall
The monotonous hologram
The seaside hotdog stand
The regrets piled higher
than any mountain can
Four stringed guitar
Home in an abandoned car
Courage in a bottle
Wishing still on the first star
Still he caresses the neck
Presses down the frets
Sings three octave blues
On life's reef of wrecks
He's free lost in the chords
The music opens doors
The pathway is as bleak as sin
While inside he reaches for more
He goes off to sleep
He has his dreams deep
About a paradise for losers
And a five string guitar
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 10:12 PM UTC
In his dreams the Vally in the throes of efflorescence call out
in a language heart alone understands;
from the hanging bridge over Ganga, he views the ice-capped peaks,
Vally's ***** extravagance and the river's turbulence.
The river runs too deep, at times he finds,
the currents treacherously strong,
from the window of his *Ashram, the view is clear.
She bathes naked, alone on a step submerged in water,
eyes feast on her moonlit curves,
the pleasures skin deep, camouflage the existential dilemmas ! he smiles
In memory his Guru speaks:"Eat only those fruits that make one immortal"
Yet another Himalayan journey in search of the fruit tree unknown
It's too late to redefine, life and love when the avalanche thunders above
on his lonesome path, every step uphill is fraught with slippery stones,
one way leads to the top, to bathe in the light of the star reaching down
Some days end in too long nights, too cold, the sun shows up hesitant,
her body has the warmth that reaches to his icy depths,
a ****** alone could penetrate, but it still wouldn't melt
Himalayan silence, chant of Ganga, the ghost of a ******
that follows him like a faithful dog, are all these fragments of a dream
or realities stringed together from many different planes?
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 1:26 AM UTC
by
rgpage
her blonde wisps of hair riding the late evening’s breeze,
at the dark water’s edge they casually stroll
snuggled up close under her lover’s arm
as the breakers roar like a thunder’s roll.
a late night stroll on deserted shore
the dark hour’s flushed with the full moon’s glow,
barely enough light for their silhouette’s form,
as they walk the water’s edge with its wave’s ebb and flow.
on a wool blanket stretched upon the cool evening sand
alone with nature, the couple takes pause
she sits and leans back on his bare muscled chest
lightly stroking his arm with her nail like claws.
light wine and cheese from a basket she packed
‘til nature takes hold and leads them along
with kiss’ on her ear and cheek he snacked
as young hormones pull on urges made strong.
with one finger lifting her tiny stringed strap
a motion foretelling of pleasures to be earned,
his fingers gently gliding it down her arm
exposing a prize for which he did yearn.
warm kiss’ exchanged give personal consent
the ocean’s loud din now muffled and still,
gentle fondling, soft kissing, their secrets are learned.
with their gifts to each other of a lover’s free will.
time pass’ quickly with the couple’s desires,
their two bodies joined in love’s embrace;
united hearts pounding to love’s ultimate dance
at the water’s edge where the breakers chase….
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 12:53 PM UTC
Praise ye the Lord!
Praise God in His sanctuary;
praise Him in the firmament of His power!
Praise Him for His mighty acts;
Praise Him according to His excellent greatness!
Praise Him with the sound of the trumpet;
Praise Him with the psaltery and harp!
Praise Him with the timbrel and dance;
Praise Him with stringed instruments and organs!
Praise Him upon the loud cymbals;
Praise Him upon the high sounding cymbals!
Let everything that hath breath Praise the Lord!
Praise ye the Lord!
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 9:43 AM UTC
Mind of mine, you alien child.
I spoon-fed you for many years.
I pretended it was a plane in some cases
and the things you spat out
I fed to you again.
Mind of mine, you shadow of a melody.
Homeless drifter on the A41
with a 5 stringed guitar and no common sense.
Begging for a shoelace to tie on
whilst you go hungry.
Mind of mine, you nervous gun clip.
You know you’re unloaded
so your barrel droops like a snowdrop.
No hippie can put a flower in you.
and your shakes are breaking my wrist.
Mind of mine, you scar butterfly-collector.
Snatching red admirals with a chameleon tongue
and when you stitch them in
their red eyes close on dusty wings.
I know you’re lying when you can’t feel a thing.
Mind of mine, You’re a ****** full of love
and a belly full of drugs.
Positive negative flip, as love is in electrics
and you’re still such a bad liar
to tell me it’s anything else.
Mind of mine,
I can be such a bad parent to you
and an even worse child.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
Oh Mr Sentinel ***** you *** with the bullwhip and echo tongue
For four hundred years they had your fathers and mothers
toiling the sugar and cotton fields no better than oxen and horses
They were all beasts together without rights or gain
All you knew was what Babylonians put in your heads
Your perceptions are nothing but that of a slave
As bright as those of the oxen and *****
That were your mates
Now you sit here thinking you're Bob Marley without stringed guitar
you may have a pen in hand but nothing much has changed
what you call a brain is just a dusty mirror from ***** in the Plantation mansion
you are just the *** overseer who gives your *** to ***** at night
payment for echoing his words and ******* a **** on Saturday
Who are you really but a mindless carcass with no class
Your momentum comes from ***** and is *****
it's 21st century and you are still a Sentinel on the cotton fields
You come cracking your bullwhip talking trash
your ****** *** still has a ten dollar price tag hanging off it
the mixed blood of your ancestors fight for dominance in vain
four hundred years of slavery and you're still in chains mind asleep
there's freedom in the sun whether in tropics or in snow town
freedom is a mind unchained to massa's bulls and stunted ****
Show me the freedom of a ******* Sentinel the mottafucker chicken
Go find your ******** radicals and do your worst, how did your pimping go in Liverpool.
or where you too busy spinning your **** in Birmingham Alabama.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 9:25 PM UTC
XXV
A heavy heart, Beloved, have I borne
From year to year until I saw thy face,
And sorrow after sorrow took the place
Of all those natural joys as lightly worn
As the stringed pearls, each lifted in its turn
By a beating heart at dance-time. Hopes apace
Were changed to long despairs, till God’s own grace
Could scarcely lift above the world forlorn
My heavy heart. Then thou didst bid me bring
And let it drop adown thy calmly great
Deep being! Fast it sinketh, as a thing
Which its own nature doth precipitate,
While thine doth close above it, mediating
Betwixt the stars and the unaccomplished fate.
3.1k
“cold winter sky—
where will this wandering beggar
grow old?”
— Issa
I. Stories
A ranch north of Spain,
his woman, their child... a dream
painted over, gone.
His... (unrequited)
...own tragedy for himself—
young death in Paris.
Quiet night at nine,
inside a café... gunshots—
being... nothingness...
II. Histories
A cold monochrome,
the winter hue of darkness:
umbra of despair.
Portraits of torment:
beggars, drunkards, prostitutes,
1901—
Lapis lazuli
thinned, turpentined—bleu de France—
ennui of sorrow.
III. Images
Melancholia
—the impotence of the will—
in Barcelona.
Barefoot on the street
corner, sitting on the ground,
he leaned on nothing.
A half-stringed guitar......
Germaine’s ******* distracted him..
he laid his revenge.
IV. Meanings
No can a beggar...
no steel strings a guitarist...
—a friend’s eulogy.
The cadaverous
curves of the bones torqued the flesh—
tedium of old age.
An allegory:
artists, poets, mendicants...
****** or broke oglers?
V. The Painting
His evocation:
the grave of Casagemas—
a guilt exorcised.
A mute’s discontent,
a blind man’s desolation,
an oil masterpiece!
An old guitarist,
blind, begging for an audience—
a blue Picasso.
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 7:22 AM UTC
WHAT is a Hindu, a Moslem or a Christian?
Whence he comes and where he goes?
Ocean is a solution, salty, but-
Corers of Suns gleam on the crest of waves-
One, only One at the helm in the blue.
Pools and streams and lakes and bays
Wells and springs and rain and ice
We see nothing but a drop, in them drops
Nay, vapor condensed: Nay, H2O-right?
Think a little straight, sit up aright
Am I not right? -break, break that H2O
Baffling bright white-light you can see.
Of heat and Energy, Oh! 'Sivam'!
You may call it 'Noor' in Arabic
'Siv' in Sanskrit-what then-
Releases combustion in cells?
Nothing but very heat and Energy.
Uranium and Thorium release the same.
We find Energy unborn eternal
Omnipresent, Omnipotent
Omniscient, and Formless.
The Almighty is Brahma,
Paramatma and Allah.
Jehovah may be for some,
For some Agni, may be that-
Radiant and resplendent Yogic Light.
Cant you see Ocean in rain drop
Cosmic power in a cell or shell?
Cell or Shell-what is in a name?
Is chariot, coat or prison of the soul.
When walls get weak the soul will part
Out through the vent as air off the balloon.
Reading Holy Scriptures, not knowing the sense-
What use? -observe the Nature and think
Knowledge is a chain of fact as pearls
Stringed by Reason and Faith with a Coir of the Truth.
Tension brews as experiences tightly
Loaded on the string, still stronger by Faith.
Knowledge is light to enlighten the folk
Not to **** but for, co-existence in Peace.
=================
Dec 21, 2011
Dec 21, 2011 at 10:47 PM UTC
Her eyes are the stained glass broken from confession.
Her withered hair buried beneath dirt gravel.
Her forbidden mind fosters slobs of crazy.
Her mind is a battlefield of Trojan takeover.
Her bare feet remember sacred ground of tainted memories.
Her ears embrace the screech of still weather.
Her grapefruit mouth juiced with venom is tasteless.
her sharp egg shelled fingertips woven from braids of straw.
Her body is the Earthquake ruptured by the vibrations of collision.
Her thoughts trespass gated abandonment
Her firework pen exploding with gunpowder secrets.
Her gunpowder secrets deterring the sanity.
Her cracked lips cobweb from silenced words.
Her puppet stringed smile puts on a show to the audienced world.
Her soul has been toyed with by the cynical Fates.
Her echo without direction is a heartbroken drum line.
Her armor has been dowsed with sharp, penetrating words.
Her skin has painted stories interior to her porcelain frame.
Her soulless story can be dry swallowed by rocks.
Her tears bleed of whispered screams.
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 2:02 PM UTC
Praise ye the Lord. Praise God
in his sanctuary: praise him in
the firmament of his power.
2 Praise him for his mighty acts:
praise him according to his excellent
greatness.
3 Praise him with the sound of the
trumpet: praise him with the psaltery
and harp.
4 Praise him with the timbrel and
dance: praise him with stringed
instruments and organs.
5 Praise him upon the loud
cymbals: praise him upon the high
sounding cymbals.
6 Let every thing that hath
breath praise the Lord. Praise ye the
Lord.
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 10:41 AM UTC
Hold hard, these ancient minutes in the cuckoo's month,
Under the lank, fourth folly on Glamorgan's hill,
As the green blooms ride upward, to the drive of time;
Time, in a folly's rider, like a county man
Over the vault of ridings with his hound at heel,
Drives forth my men, my children, from the hanging south.
Country, your sport is summer, and December's pools
By crane and water-tower by the seedy trees
Lie this fifth month unskated, and the birds have flown;
Holy hard, my country children in the world if tales,
The greenwood dying as the deer fall in their tracks,
The first and steepled season, to the summer's game.
And now the horns of England, in the sound of shape,
Summon your snowy horsemen, and the four-stringed hill,
Over the sea-gut loudening, sets a rock alive;
Hurdles and guns and railings, as the boulders heave,
Crack like a spring in vice, bone breaking April,
Spill the lank folly's hunter and the hard-held hope.
Down fall four padding weathers on the scarlet lands,
Stalking my children's faces with a tail of blood,
Time, in a rider rising, from the harnessed valley;
Hold hard, my country darlings, for a hawk descends,
Golden Glamorgan straightens, to the falling birds.
Your sport is summer as the spring runs angrily.
2.5k
Wayfarer,
walk with me
down the open, crumbling road.
We’re two surviving souls--
billion year old
molecules binding
our hearts, muscles,
bones and nerves winding--
let us go back to the beginning,
before the time of sinning,
to the start of our creation,
before government or nation,
to find the garden and lose regarding--
regain our innocence.
The sun, rain and wind will test us--
we’ll build shelters of hides and bones,
pick berries and sharpen knives with stones,
play bone flutes and gut-stringed lutes,
and **** nothing without reason
and prepare for each change of season.
We’ll take our water from the glacial melt.
Our fashion will be the furry pelt.
Of course, we’ll remember poem and song--
for they were never wrong;
art was blameless.
It was the only thing
“Civilization” left us.
We’ll spark fire with pegs and strings
whirring, friction, small kindlings
into fire; we'll sit round and tell our history--
marvel at our ancestors’ folly, what mystery...
We’ll write dramas and dance;
we will honor this second chance.
English we will remember.
And French and Arabic, Latin and Hebrew.
We’ll start a new language, or two.
We’ll wash and sew condoms from intestines;
this time, what we’ll invest in
will be sustainability.
No need to propagate the earth--
it is fruitful enough already.
Only to be in harmony, a place neither above, nor below, others--
the animals and plants, who are our sisters and our brothers.
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 10:33 PM UTC
Across the sky is a blaze of scintillating gold
When the dawn quietly begins to unfold
Each morn is a fresh wonder
As the night willfully bows down to surrender
Every minute is a novel creation
With scenes and sights of great sensation
With every passing hour, new vistas unfold
Bringing insights varied and visions manifold
The blades of grass glow in sparkling dew
As the sun makes his customary march anew
Over the expanse of the brightening sky
Feathered folks to different directions fly
Here and there is many a plant in bloom
That dispels all clouds of graying gloom
Bees hum round opening flowers
Squirrels come out from their hidden covers
The gust of breeze that blows over
Brings scents so sweet in the morning air
The mountains that tower so high
In grandeur seem to touch the sky
The cuckoo and the magpie sing in joy
Their nestlings have nothing to annoy
The cascading falls sound the stringed trumpet
Running down from the mount’s heady summit
As Nature thus pipes a thousand songs
In capturing sounds and melodious tunes
In my heart is born a heavenly melody
That I shall pour out in euphonious rhapsody
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 10:41 PM UTC
I am
the red ripe apple of the sinful tree
the honey suckle of the bumble bee
the pink blushed rose of the secret garden
the stubborn spoilt lass never in pardon
the youngest daughter of the shining sun
the castle dream girl in sands of fun
the jealous lover of the crescent moon
the blowing wind in a strong monsoon
the first white swan in the silver lake
the seizmic tremor of a hot earthquake
the scarlet love bird on each window pane
the falling tear drop of clear crystal rain
the candle's flicker of each passionate flame
the mystery madam,mademoiselle or dame?
the copper butterfly in each serene meadow
the Sunday's church girl in snow flake's shadow
the brown eyed maiden of the deep blue seas
the pretty woman of ripe strawberries
the old fashioned girl in sweet proposal
the gold stringed harp in music's motion
the colored smile on a rainbow's face
the flamenco dancer covered with lace
the little mermaid in pirates'streams
the wafting wave in glittered dreams
the twinkling star of black silk skies
the little lantern light of fire-flies
the Cindirella in glass slippers
the happy verse of each romance
the soft wind's voice in a whispered breeze
the wood wind chime in sweet melodies
the Wishing feather of a free white dove
the veiled young lady in the power of love.
Nov 8, 2010
Nov 8, 2010 at 3:26 AM UTC
Psalm 150
1 Praise ye the Lord. Praise
God in his sanctuary: praise
him in the firmament of his
power.
2 Praise him for his mighty
acts: praise him according to his
excellent greatness.
3 Praise him with the sound of
the trumpet: praise him with the
psaltery and harp.
4 Praise him with the timbrel
and dance: praise him with
stringed instruments and organs.
5 Praise him upon the loud
cymbals: praise him upon the
high sounding cymbals.
6 Let every thing that hath
breath praise the Lord. Praise ye
the Lord.
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 9:33 PM UTC
I sit watching with a lifeless gaze. I see only the thoughts that grip my mind, all an effect of words said. Not the words spoken out loud, but the words strung into answered questions. Questions I have yet to ask and will never ask.
I see visions of what-ifs and what-wills. I see images depicting years of the most likely outcome, influenced by years of observation. I see them fall in place like falling leaves from a tree. A tree whose roots grew from insecurities of being nothing more than a seed.
I see not love stories nor happily-ever-afters, but that timeless story life has forever told, the story of Truth. I see a play of the willful becoming those who lack the will.
I see the stage set with actors holding back their desires, fighting their inhibitions till the clock ticks, hitting that split-second.
STOP!
Release the lights!
QUIT THE ACT!
Let the water run and split the bar on the gate that is life.
I see the minds of so many who jump ship in this flood, simply to drown in their waters. Their last breath a regret! As they sink in their sea of pain, calling out no name, only asking, "Who do I blame?" The waves washing over with no sway, as if to whisper but one name.
I watch the outcome of this play day after day, reaping my mind like the sun seeks the shade. It's fear. Fear of loss and fear to love, it's of failing and failing to try, all the hellos and goodbyes. It's the moments and memories of with and without, it's my thoughts and my doubts, it's no life with. And it's a life going out.
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 5:27 AM UTC
*Those shiny words in deep dreams meaningful
Dancing freely,calling for that song so beautiful
Adorned and set fine in the myriad web sub mental
Then killed as I wake, to you dear life real ******
A trailing deja vu of feelings finest found,now lost,
Those pearls stringed perfect smooth and shiny then
A noose now unseen choking,tight around my throat silent.*
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 4:53 AM UTC
Here hang the wine-sotted troubadours of sadness and clouds,
~Having played serenas to paramours lipping at the cup of an evening bawd~
Like tethered donkeys now with their packsong of pastorela and alba,
No more musical mensurations of the ****** Mary, Cantigas de Santa Maria,
But slung over the railings of dawn-blotted taverns or courts of renown,
Here hang the wine-sotted troubadours of sadness and clouds,
Like drinking gourds, their stringed citherns dangle from their shoulders,
Leaking the strummed honey-wine of sound like the retchings of the nearby sea.
Jul 31, 2019
Jul 31, 2019 at 11:33 AM UTC
In a garden,
As beautiful as heaven,
At night Jasmine,
With white silky lips,
Unfolded its perfumed petals,
Blossoms in ethereal beauty,
With a creamy glow.
In the morning the Red Rose in bud,
Drenched in dew,
Unfurled its petals one by one,
On a single stem with its prickly thorn,
Sassy and beautiful.
Each with an ego of,
"I am the best",
Their hatred flared,
In fumes their scent flowed in waves.
The birds and insects looked on,
Prayed for peace,
Tried to pacify them.
Then one day their enmity changed to love.
Bees and butterflies sang and chanted love songs,
As they sipped their nectar.
Soon The Rose proposed,
My love, let's get married,
For long have we tarried.
So the hummingbird flew them to them to a famous wedding planner,
To be stringed into garlands,
Jasmine for the bride,
And The Red Rose for the groom.
The couple took their vows,
So did The Rose and Jasmine.
They made a beautiful pair,
And their children were called Jasrose.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 8:26 AM UTC
This is a psalm by my friend Mad Pastor Grovell
Praise the Lord with the sound of the trumpet!
Praise the Lord with the psaltry
(whatever on God's green earth that is!)
And with the harp while you are at it!
Praise the Lord with the tambourine
(another queer one!) and with dancing!
Praise the Lord with stringed instruments and electronic organs!
Praise the Lord on the loud cymbals and gongs
(and the high sounding cymbals too)!
Let every thing that breathes praise the Lord
(even midgets and the clinically obese and perverts)!
And that includes YOU - so get praising Him straight away!
Get down on your knees, blow your trumpet,
Rattle your silly tambourine like a mongo!
Clash your assorted cymbals and play with your *****
Sing songs and hymns and cries of adoration to the Heavens
And clap till your hands are bleeding with joy!
Be a one-man band of earhole-busting praise for the Lord!
Praise ye the Lord lest He smite thee totally ******* senseless!
Or else WATCH OUT FOR THE GOOD LORD
WILL BASH OUT YOUR ******* WORTHLESS BRAINS
FOR YOUR FILTHY SEX-SINS AND ALSO CONDEMN YOU
TO AN ETERNITY OF PASSIVE ****** IN HELL!
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 12:56 PM UTC
When once the twilight locks no longer
Locked in the long worm of my finger
Nor ****** the sea that sped about my fist,
The mouth of time ****** like a sponge,
The milky acid on each hinge,
And swallowed dry the waters of the breast.
When the galactic sea was ******
And all the dry seabed unlocked,
I sent my creature scouting on the globe,
That globe itself of hair and bone
That, sewn to me by nerve and brain,
Had stringed my flask of matter to his rib.
My fuses are timed to charge his heart,
He blew like powder to the light
And held a little sabbath with the sun,
But when the stars, assuming shape,
Drew in his eyes the straws of sleep
He drowned his father's magics in a dream.
All issue armoured, of the grave,
The redhaired cancer still alive,
The cataracted eyes that filmed their cloth;
Some dead undid their bushy jaws,
And bags of blood let out their flies;
He had by heart the Christ-cross-row of death.
Sleep navigates the tides of time;
The dry Sargasso of the tomb
Gives up its dead to such a working sea;
And sleep rolls mute above the beds
Where fishes' food is fed the shades
Who periscope through flowers to the sky.
When once the twilight screws were turned,
And mother milk was stiff as sand,
I sent my own ambassador to light;
By trick or chance he fell asleep
And conjured up a carcass shape
To rob me of my fluids in his heart.
Awake, my sleeper, to the sun,
A worker in the morning town,
And leave the poppied pickthank where he lies;
The fences of the light are down,
All but the briskest riders thrown
And worlds hang on the trees.
2k