Live tides as do the Seasons glow

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Open Poetry #39

Live tides as do the Seasons glow

themute
Member

since 2006-05-08

Posts 469
Maryland

0 posted 2006-10-03 05:11 PM

Live tides as do the Seasons glow

Lower still the hand that veils the dark, for light will harm the strongest eyes.
Delve deep a sour milken white that bleeds out days
And forces the cleansing of forest dreams.
For to peer into the weight of second hours
Truly deep as darkest skies
As bleeding rivers feed the grotto with a shining redness,
Blacker, as memories of light will fade
And now the lashes wide, the sands are falling still away.
As symbols –learned- seep into the reaches
Far stretch keen on the cosmos of the brain,
And they betray, for symbols leave no existential meanings,
But for the ergonomic slaughter of the cells.

Creep fellward for the kings of Kopfs have beguiled,
O’er the towers edge into the plains
Of known times and hero’s,
Whence gone to die,
Where once the thought was rung: I would ne’er think
From my beginning that this now would come to pass.
And so as the gelding by the mare has cried for his misfortune,
To see his love, yet be not able.
Dear child of the plane, go
Deep into sun; the vast, intense, insensible, blazin’ red
Yet climb backward quickly, forever.
Digress; you must be hidden
Into the sacred hours of days;
Into the sacred darkness of night, and the silver-moon shining,
Into the seldom beating lovelorn hearts,
Into your very life that kills your days, where each second festers pain.
Belittle thus with retrospection, hours, with care.

The lips would shut but ne’er,
All the words what wisdom shared
Has done but slain the children,
As per devil does disguise
To blind the seekers of the path.

But one need only move the hand
For ‘tis false and made with vapor.
Remove the shields and die forever,
Falling deep inside themselves
Till core of god and truth revealed

To the essence, what would rise the soul
That whence used thus does fast expire
To be the seedling of the mire
Once dead fruit fallen, now the seasons will admire
Until the day of winding spires

Become not of the flower
As frail, as finite as the hour.
Nay, for ye must be of the trees
For time does take for things to grow
You shall not die as winters blow

I am the two-toed wanderer

[This message has been edited by themute (10-03-2006 06:36 PM).]

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