Friday, August 09, 2013


holding hope, the heroes as they haver,
the welders work without a working waiver,
we session certain systematic saviors,
and wait till one sets loose these ancient chains,

but if the inkling inches into evening,
and desperation delves deep its deceiving,
I'll buy the best barometer, believing,
the answer to be somewhere in the change,

when we will wield, the worthwhile work of worry,
and harrow home in wholesome hateful hurry,
to force a fervent field fighting fury,
perhaps the battle's coming to a close,

but broken down and biting at the brimming,
the swelling sense of sentiment a-swimming,
through Thebes and Thera, there thoroughly thinning,
defeat is in the spaces of our prose,

no newly numbered, neatly-nestled narrow,
nor freshly formed, firmly-fisted pharaoh,
will set the secret silence, like a sparrow,
free within the hollow shell of time,

but if our broken bodies become branded,
and if our honored heroes, empty-handed,
leave our separated sorties stranded,
then visitation starts tonight at nine,

yes, yesterday the youthful yields yearning,
and lessons, light and lustful, there for learning,
have ceased to subtle certainty concerning,
that all is well, the whisper in the trees,

and in my gaze, the green grass in the garden,
the springtime sends my skin to second-starting,
and here my heart, long heralded to harden,
it softens in the coolest summer breeze,

alight, all elemental and awaiting,
the sight, the smell, the subtle serenading,
I enter into eve insinuating,
I'm listening for something to believe,

"my child, chilled and chivalrously chasing,
that feeling filling fleeting failures, facing,
worthy wishing, wearing into wasting,
your answer is here, hidden inside me"