Thought, Guilt

I use my brain

said the dog

so it can’t touch me here

this moment when the other minds rush

almost stop breathing

in the push for the lightness

a freedom from the shrieking points

I’ve heard masters call guilt,

men standing at the door,

watching as the rest slip past

wondering if it will still be bright out

when they wake up.

Advertisements

A Man, A King

What is a man but

Flesh and bone gave breath;

Such mortal beast

To buck beneath

The reins of my imagination.

Cry out for me, ye bloodied hands

I am the stones arise on emerald hills

My flesh the graven gold

Of toiling back and grinding axe.

My blood be thee and thine

All rivers flow to mine

Call me God, for all I see is all I am

A fire in the earth

Tempered in the sea of sable madness

Yet to swim, yet to circumnavigate

My ambition, this thing of steel

No land might ever satisfy

The hunger of my soul.

All songs, they sing for me

Each note a dirge unto my memory.

Each breath, praise, for it is mine divine

Providence, they say, a god-in-man

Whoso could ever hope to say

I could not turn the tides.

I am the horse that rides,

I am the bolt that flies,

I am the child that cries,

He whom only fate defies.

Behold my majesty and yet despair

Of he who masters everyone

And nothing, and no one, still.

For the latest Monday Poetry Potluck!

Deception

Photo by Chris Galford

The fire dips beneath the azure sea;

All eyes turn to their own hands.

No one spies the serpents slithering

From the long stretched shadows

Of a garden ripe with glistening fruit.

Demons whisper in the peoples’ ears—

The straw cast down,

The crows descend.

Fruit rots and garden fades—

Ravens circle high above

The corpses of the fools.

Old men stir within their ancient tombs—

The dream is dead,

Another Rome, decayed.

For The Thursday Poets Rally, Week 28.