Amy Green Poet I do not know?

Within This March

within this march                                                       
amassed 
hands rise outstretched
they're granted 
insignificance as they touch.

within this march
tribes are juxtaposed                                                   
delicate bodies dispersed,
cast abroad
under an infinite sky. 
                                                                            
within this march                                                       
their many tamed, somnolent beasts
lie in limp dead circles                                                
disarranged, and softly sleeping
amid droves of 
lingering, nameless hosts.                                  

within this march
ominous gods
have drugged
following legions
with simulacra of 
perfection.

within this march
emboldened and vain
is an outcry
of a strange storm,
a maelstrom of form
a violent tempest of
disintegration against
manifestation.

within this march
sovereign lords
believe all things change
and still remain perfect.

Written by my husband Thielus.
A. Green

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