I speak of the desolate
of an ending where there is no God,
or beacon or harbor.
of the pure and deserted
who sit mute and stare
at lights as cold as moons..
who rests in wire cradles,
who's angels only glare,
who's place in limbo is as marked as a mountain.
I speak of hollow halls,
of the spectral sadists
who gleam at the sores and palsies..
of the purgatorial stints
that envelope
the restless and weary..
that starve the sun
with rendering and reckoning,
who clothe the lost with wax and pallor.
I speak of the lower birds
pitch-black and circling,
the pine lottery,the gaunt judge.
There is an echo
in the vacuous prayer closet-
A stone and stern remainder..
an eternity,it seems..
fixed,implacable,
indifferent.
Categories:
palsies, dark, death, loss, prayer,
Form: I do not know?
propriocetion of an unhappy deltoid
the eyeball flambé of envy
and other itches stitches palsies and gouts
shout give up, throw it in, it’s too much!
such suggestions never make me waver
rather raise a stubborness in my endeavour
ring a bell far out in my stormy sea
inchcape finisterre inistrahull light
oh no stubborness is the star
stops me bailing out
keeps me bailing
in the teeth of howl gales bark
though land and home and sky are out of sight
and my unwilling bark
fills fast in time’s approaching night
and all is mist and sea’s unstable carp.
Categories:
palsies, song-lyricme, me,
Form: I do not know?