Before Too Long

 

Like nothing
more than an intelligence

my moon, diminished,
pales before the galloping van
of smokeblack horses. 
It's my turn to reach out
as if I could help: I can't help it.
The site of the slaughter,
before too long, will be a sea of corn
like any other. Little beasts peep out 
after the storm. Golden apples
silently swing, growing silver
by dusk. Figures begin to walk
march, quest or crawl
only centuries apart. It's the living,
full of tears, who become distracted
before too long.

◄ Maia

Pueblo ►

Comments

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Martin Elder

Sun 16th Jun 2019 22:10

I particularly love the line about golden apples silently swing growing silver by dusk.
A wonderful piece Adam

jennifer Malden

Sat 15th Jun 2019 15:24

Beautiful! Jennifer

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Tom Harding

Sat 15th Jun 2019 10:28

I very much enjoyed the vividness of this piece Adam, some lovely images here

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