Solemnity

Another canticle of thoughts…

 

 

We lay upon broken, brittle leaves

Dirt as soft as snowflake mounds.

A floor of grass, of sawdust ground,

Inside a hushed and solemn breeze.

We float aimlessly, around,

No sounds surround our ears,

No crowds of seas, though no calm to ease,

The endless qualms that seem, I fear,

May help to stay the disdain within.

Distant voices, may, remain,

Infinite in size, without an end.

 

                             … I feel a rush of wind …

                                   Though all in all it may just be

    A canticle of thoughts

                             Reverberating along thinning walls of rain

               Along severed words, spatter thickening crimson stains …

                             … Though what may be …

                                     Very well may be, a quickening of days.

 

A quickening of days it seems,

our hearts beat to the lines of sadly drawn out plays.

Repeating sonnets that scream and weep,

So silently, in ways, that only attentive ears can listen

Attracting modest heaps of honesty.

Disconcerting it is too see,

How fools can look so nice and neat,

And speak so fluently

The languages of crowds of people …

 

                             … They flock like gulls from widest blue …

                                     And brightest sky

      To perch along power lines that sway above empty streets

                       Of aluminum can rattling, and hollow breaths

                               Through vacant windows

  … They watch a world once here, then gone …

                  Silent solemn promises