Xavier Keough Poet Narrative

Remains

Here
In this centrifuge of sanctimony
Where I sip the atrophied air of my ancestors
The shipwrecked tide of my unborn children
Angels dangle from a precipice of silence
Strained by strings of a theoretical God
Sung by eyes of defiance
Which navigate the jagged epitaphs below
Searching
For that one sediment of salvation
That one moment of submission
Hoping he will see
His wonders, atrocities, his indifference
To cast a shadow of conviction
Over shivering light
There
Across the inlet where ivory columns crumbled
And modernity now deftly mumbles
Its fleets of fortune baptized
Nigh the bronze dust of golden millennia
Where history lies with its victims
A fugue of fossilized souls
A silent prayer remains
Here

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Joyce Johnson April 5, 2009 at 4:58 PM You pluck phrases like grapes at will and skillfully shape them into poetry. I envy that talent. Joyce

Carolyn Devonshire February 26, 2009 at 11:16 PM Xavier, what a powerful poem filled with religious overtones and the angst of man. "The shipwrecked tide of my unborn children" hooked my attention quickly, and the fuge of fossilized souls reeled me in. Great work! I'll be reading more of your artistic offerings. I appreciate your comments on "Uncle Sam's Sticky Fingers." Best to you, Carolyn

Mac Holmes February 25, 2009 at 11:41 PM man thats out there. love it. -Mac