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Bells are sounding on the ocean floor
Calling en-masse quietened voices, Though grumbling feet pass with heavy countenance Through every remembered door. ~//~ Bells ring out sounding forlorn: The remembrance of a past unshorn; Life now swelling into mists of time Scrambling as naked countenance looks on. ~//~ Because it is here, this taste will stay An end to pondering, An end to wandering. Should these ends meet, Driving sand into studied toes And gathering gulls into a flock of followers, Bells will ring out overhead To remind a sullen face Of the debt owed to paper thoughts Stranded on the ocean floor.
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Here it comes, young man
Clouds on every horizon, A fire burning bright into the long night. We waged war on our heroes, Dug graves for our ghosts, Sneaked love into tents as though We had forgotten the lessons Our mother taught us Over this timid plate of hors-d'œuvre. Tally the falling giant upon the stones Where we once built a wall to obfuscate glory, Dismembered parts levy the starved and hungry, Equal among us are the stomachs that remember this fate. ~ ~ ~ Are we old enough to harbour the wisdom of age, See through the soft glaze Appropriating kindness on a stage? Can we forgive our sins when all is remembered, Chipping away at our present state And ushering in the endgame? See that smoke rising, Bristling with static energy, Coalescing with storms and anger, Birthing the new frontier. Frustration mates with the enemy And gives conception to holiness and penalties. In this hour, In this day, In this year I hear you say: Lay your bones down now upon this hallowed ground.
This beautiful life
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