These marvellous inclined planes
that with such precision take
the rite of beauty which
unknown to anyone fall into
some dark void and
with a whisper just before death
accuse and deny in one word the
meaningless eons which have gone before.
I was quietly observing the distance
between the stars
when with such a slight force
the years closed in on me and
the gaps between the stars
became negligible and balancing
on this tangent against the planet
I realised the talk of dust was true
and we are soon wind-blown and free.
Succour one last hour.
Do it for me.
Such distances between the captives
and the free are
a misunderstood dream where
for a moment we fool ourselves into
another state of grace and believe
that some destiny awaits again
when in truth the lie is an eternity of silence.
Is the hearth warm?
Do icicles cling to your breath like diamonds?
You’re mistaken if you think I care.
Here stands one who with a single blow will
take the cinders and ash from the pit and with
the blackest storm blind each demon who stands and
waits in every shadow and then with fearful tread
will come for you.