08-27-2014, 02:07 PM
Presto Agitato
The tempest when it breaks free of the swells
held to the edge of sky by unseen hands:
a cavalry’s hard ride on hoof-beat lands
to oceans where winds cry a song of whales
and steer a floating mountain by the sails,
stiff rudder, and a grecian god’s commands -
from sea back up a river to the sands
of a dark desert swamped in fish entrails.
The sky is filled with battleships that fly -
drop lightning, rain, and thunder from a height
the moon can’t claim - and yet a thrush’s cry,
when it fights its way across the night,
echoes a stillness where no apathy
can live. Not one will pass without a fright.
The tempest when it breaks free of the swells
held to the edge of sky by unseen hands:
a cavalry’s hard ride on hoof-beat lands
to oceans where winds cry a song of whales
and steer a floating mountain by the sails,
stiff rudder, and a grecian god’s commands -
from sea back up a river to the sands
of a dark desert swamped in fish entrails.
The sky is filled with battleships that fly -
drop lightning, rain, and thunder from a height
the moon can’t claim - and yet a thrush’s cry,
when it fights its way across the night,
echoes a stillness where no apathy
can live. Not one will pass without a fright.