The Orb

Of the orb I speak in awe Of the Moon with its slender claw Finite in size, elysian in presence, there to watch Crop the doubt, step up a notch As is he - facile princeps - a sublunary prince, Devout and intense ever since The days of deportation from Attica of North In the downtown Abaddon he came forth To denounce neither world in order to live Only in you could he ever believe. Yet the stigmata pierced the skin Grafted the soul infinitely thin Battles abated but the burden rose From the nadir of the pith to foreclose Every chamber of every pore And then, disappeared into nevermore. In the dreams I see time and again A stoic oak tree turned into a cane An untamed ocean of tenacious fire Almost silent voices of desire Composed while whispering into his ear Go back to Attica of North Reset in Abaddon where he came forth.