04-24-2019, 05:33 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-24-2019, 06:15 PM by RiverNotch.)
The sun burns so hot and bright
the blue of the sky is almost white.
His light is carried by the wind
which, like chariots, run and return
from distant kingdoms eager to take
this meager patch of dried-out earth
and, for spoils, yield naught but shadows
of glory stained by golden dust.
A hundred leaves, and hundreds more
twigs that root them and join to stems,
streams of sap rooted to the soil,
to the hollow bedrock buried deep beneath
and moistened by the dark: a subterranean sea
pure and pleasant and perpetually still---
peace that the wind will never reach,
and the sun, so bright, will never even see.
the blue of the sky is almost white.
His light is carried by the wind
which, like chariots, run and return
from distant kingdoms eager to take
this meager patch of dried-out earth
and, for spoils, yield naught but shadows
of glory stained by golden dust.
A hundred leaves, and hundreds more
twigs that root them and join to stems,
streams of sap rooted to the soil,
to the hollow bedrock buried deep beneath
and moistened by the dark: a subterranean sea
pure and pleasant and perpetually still---
peace that the wind will never reach,
and the sun, so bright, will never even see.