but I can walk. My vitality can move and I breathe
in the new and out the old. God, yes.
Plastering layers on each day, facile how
the mind slips to oblivion. Only in sleep, when
the watcher rests and climbs into the womb of the sun,
will hazard play up some new feat and let some slip
and escape like madness through a sieve.
A deer in the clearing. Silence, a two-way viaduct.
A rifle to the ready and a mile of today's dreams.
What be this trail I'm on? It beckons my cold joints.
Sing to the fathers old songs of bitter freedom
of innocence lost. Futile the catch of mother's
cries of young futures thrown to wolves of war.
The air here is unfettered and open. No regulation of ideals.
No big foam chasing my treacled steps through alien mazes.
Demanding boxes to be ticked and airless chambers of expectation
hold no sway where the wind whispers
in tongues of river's rustle
the secrets of the mountain.
How silent, the sentries stand.
In storm and rain, ever steadfast.
Only leaves shaking.
Then, one by one, they fall.
Melt into the ground. Like new snowfall
covering old steps.
Yet when sorrow persists, that branch can be
(a sure) one to untangle folly
to hold onto.
Courage may deign a return once more
to spare a friendly quarter.
Enforcing reigns of fear and pain cakes the path.
Platforms cringe and shrivel at the din
shrinking the space
around my head
Verschränkung.
Steady on, go shout somewhere else.
You make the quiet cringe and wake
the land where sad words live,
a world I'd so like to let be.
No comments:
Post a Comment