March 1, 2013

  •  

     

     

     

    Powders   

     

    Powders

    Fine earth-dusts

    Beneath a stone upturned

    By the clattering

    Mob-pourings after centurions

    On the mocking-run to Golgotha

     

    They drive a poor shrunk Man heaving a Cross

     

    Bright honor they do to One

    Who gave them alms from heaven...?

    Bread from stone...?

    Life...?

     

    See them all for their total pale shadows-grey eye

    Each surly ash etched deep in monotonic dullness

     

    Yet slowly slowly now

    Out of the loveliness of death's oncoming shade

    Deep deep within Exquisite Quiet

    Where Temple bleeds out thorn

    And Hands and Feet shed iron studs

    The Agony whispers in the sad and delicate air

     

    "Forgive"

     

    See Perfection and Futility

    As Twin Agonies inseperable as earth-dusts

    Lying beneath an upturned stone

    High on the mocking-run

     

    Powders

    Blowing time out of mind

     

    Powders 

    Upon which the mind is nourished

     

                                 

     

     

     

     

     

Comments (6)

Comments are closed.

Post a Comment