Warmer than Blood

entry picture

At the end of time I will rise

Like today, go about my business,

Talk to children, smile sometimes.

The sky - the real sky - shall shelter

And storm the earth still.

Black soil shall breed many satans still

Azure clouds, from which no rain falls,

Shall mass on far-horizons threateningly.

Large drops of rain shall fall, freezing into ice,

Angels will lie about their whereabouts

Clerics, streaked with tallow, will mumble incantations.

Here, the blossom-trees of stormy autumn shine

Into full, glassy pools, grain tumbles from our mouths,

Mornings sing slumber again to wakened men

Fish scatter ripples of wet delight, shimmering

Swans couple, a dog-fox tracks its droppings:

In the park, dodging the broken syringes,

On broken swings we play. All day.

The sky - the real sky -

Shelters and storms us still.

We sit and talk in the twilight.

"Who made God, Dad?" Just like that.

Answer please.

The trees sway, leaves tumble down, the town lights are on.

 

1992

◄ Meg

MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE ►

Comments

Big Sal

Fri 5th Oct 2018 21:01

Excellence knows not of time, constraints, or censorship.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message