Sunday, April 14, 2013

The Long Breath
All the while deliver only that which cannot be named 
Wasted honour served as a cold dish best eaten chokingly
For the hand will move as it will; just as night greets dawn?
As wind moves across a parched plain that once ran green
Not for want am I dispirited by deprecations of the world
It moves and bites me though I cannot see its long intent
For my short blessed measures long rage against a machine
That would work us all into dull ingots of conforming idiocy
But not for naught do we retain all of our individual traits
For deep inside us no matter the cost to our uncertain liberty
We still see the world for what it was before triumph; it was...
A paradise that took hold of a fell wind and lapsed to darkness