The Village On the Water V
Showering white light illuminates
Bright-Moon Bay;
In the overlooking Moon-Inviting Pavilion,
Li Bai had raised his twinkling, rich amber
Coloured wineglass
To invite the same reticent Moon.
Nailed to the sharp ridge of the snaking mountains,
The spine of the Great Wall: dark, foreboding;
Stacked beacons readied to throw blazing fire
Upwards
With every bit of much-fierce intensity as a
Roaring comet;
Hurtling stars streak across the infinite
Firmaments...
Exploding into fragments on the far side of the
Uncharted world;
Stark towers are emboldened by the fizzing glow
From hot dripping torches;
And, amidst his mindful watch,
The border guard, enduring gnawing desolation,
Dreams that, someday...the distant black river
Might transport him safely home.
They stamp on their feet and blow on numbed
Hands; and, in that grave solitude, have grown
Even more fearful of merciless hordes.
Smiling, we prod at our warm fires...we do not
Fear hordes.
Those border guards know what is expected of them...
What befalls them if they should fail in that
Sworn service;
After all...any chain is only as strong as it
Weakest link.
We are but indivisible cogs.
Thus, as the Great Pole turns, so too
The Great Axle...and each little cog in turn;
And so too moves the Great Celestial Heavens...
Its timeless, immutable spiralling...
And all its marvellous machinations.
Tethered, crouching cormorants, armoured,
Scaly overcoats
Bejewelled in reflected starlight, withdraw
Further into huddled sleep;
Unnerving screams and cries from strange, unseen
Creatures;
Livestock, restless, at unease in the upper tier;
Screeching owls, swooping with softest wing brush
From roof to roof,
Prowling the tiles on scratching claws,
Search for the chance of a straying cat;
And in Ichang city the guard will be stood-to
Above the city gates.
Merchants, officials, artisans and
Private citizens...
Having long sought their beds, will forget daily
Matters...
Place a trust in unbreachable walls and
Resolute men.
Past the frontier the mongol has retired to
His tent,
Rolls himself up in thick blankets...
For him there are no such fears;
There is no fear for him to be found out on
The vast grasslands of far-reaching, rolling plains.
For him, fear is found inside the city's
Crowded and confusing maze of meandering streets:
His horse loves only the wide-open spaces;
Where, devoid of any dusky glooming,
At glorious sunset the massive, squatting orb
Inflates the whole of the burning sky...
And, at each vibrant dawning...lending radiance
To a multitude of lush, steaming dews.
Copyright © John Fleming | Year Posted 2020
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