Beneath a callused skin of light
the hunched and mustered
clap a prayer between a leaking sight.
It is the earth that mourns itself,
whether baldly thrown or loamy laid
the silent soil repaints its sullied shrouds
far beyond any atoning sorrow,
or cooling heart.
It is none but a laboring pity
to lay down the past
as deep as a weeping sky allows
or raise a hand only to tamp down
a new-turned mound.
Restless are the skewing worms
ever churning a blood-born mud,
eyeless they cover the once begotten,
cloak a hard pressed present and loss.
as the missing
deafly retreat beyond our ken.
Hear now the trilling birds,
how they far-fling their buoyant hymns,
see how they hop between their own bones.
Bugle boy,
little boy blew
A lot of white noise
have got many red necks
following you
That horn of consternation
wails loud and angry
Those temper tantrum toots
dead air cryo empty
Bugle boy,
little boy blue
Your scarlet letter tone
has got the murmuring crowd
idolizing you
Porcelain notes blown vex indiscreet,
wax smoke signal coldly
Pigeon drop carrier pox
gets Oval puffery sent by a trill tweet
Bugle boy,
little boy blew
Play the dirge Taps for democracy,
as a jingo strident blare
deafly accrue
Moody move the retrograde ears
with vacuum suction ease
Orchestrate billowy primal fears
on a nether octave breeze
Bugle boy,
a portrait of scorn
paints your little horn blue
Bugle boy,
so indigo dark is the sound
spreading ‘cross the pestilent plain
Fallow be yore golden amber grain,
as rasp bury berate pain
drips hollow noise of purple reign —
Void lips echoes disdain
Bugle boy,
little boy blew
A hateful horn of pulse penury
has cast hope askew
Bugle boy,
little boy blew
Seeds of doubt
upon the dying winds of liberty
It’s mortuary time to a-tone deaf clock in
to the pawn fate
of warlock plans that bewitch angle bend
The hourglass is turned over again,
wearily watch the
sands of your inhalation dwindling
In a despot time of greed,
second-hand puppets do the dying
Ag coin commodity bleed
Feel the avarice reign,
those tempestuous profit tears falling
Be the fodder battlefield fed,
pleb body debt chained
Intellectual properties acquired
in the gold piece accord
Condo hearts time share expired —
Mortgaged souls
got swept off the board
In a weepy eye time of need,
first class haves
deafly ignore the poor pleas
Cadaver cold tongues
toll the hell bells rung
Burning that pulse promissory scrip
with pirate-pierced, profiteering lips
Feel the ageless pain of bosom misery
in this modern time of ancient greed
As the never world awaits me,
The lord darkness, his cloak now draped.
Haunting images that appear in dreams,
Invade the subconscious, till again I wake
Complative thoughts well before the dawn,
I walk the morning shore,
How many have stood on these same sands,
Reflecting the echoes of those no more.
And still the waves they pound the shore,
Relentless in their quest,
As they crash on the rocks with deafly roar,
White tipped and foaming zest.
Dawn breaks with gilded cotton clouds,
Waiting like courtiers to their king.
Gathering round the sovereign sun,
Bestowing his warmth on everything.
Would that life compare to the shore,
All worries get washed away.
Cares thrown to the four winds,
As on my knees I pray
© N A Windle 2009
I guess I thought I was trying to be included
I guess I thought I was being cute
I guess I was wrong...
I wonder...
am i who they thought i was?
is it just hurt spilling into these words?
will i ever have the opportunity to be in the background?
will i be thought of as the looming shadow...
natural interest...
stepping aside
looking blindly
hearing deafly
unassuming....indefinitely