Silence
In the sound and fury by the muscled sea,
Where the clouds race and run in the open
Pastures of the sky.
And life lives like new blood, splashed on a face from a cut,
Where the wind-lashed waves have dashed salt water tears
More than any that can fall from my face.
Where my grief is smaller than mist droplets
In the great silence of the endless, empty, mindless, never resting sea.
There you will hear my heart mewling
Like a gull, looking for its lost loves
As little silver fish under the covers of the crashing waves.
Lost forever, as my mind
Rushes into the enormity of time
And time scrubs my life of man
Into its uncomprehending plan.
At the ebb of each receding wave,
As bubbling through pebbles, the sea gathers strength,
And draws back its grappling arm,
For yet another roiling hammer blow on the castle of the shore.
The silence hangs,
In the wind shriek of the storm.
And all around still there are sounds of men,
Of trees falling in empty forests and one hand clapping
But I do not hear them,
And none shall know of my life and loves.
As the crows take to the sky
From the bones of a sheep
Drowned in a drainage ditch.
The sky is dark against the setting sun,
An angry red glow, behind the clouds.
And dark, the trees beseeching the winter sky
Like widows at an Arab funeral.
The path too is dark and wet and cold
Towards the ending and the beginning of the light.
Still we push, certain in our childishness that our life involves our Sun
And this world: where we dub nature perfect
And brag ourselves inspired.
But it is really just the rattle of bones and bits and rags
A child's collection of prized scraps made significant by our lives,
Creating atmosphere in a vacuum,
That is a birthplace and a tomb.
Where the clouds race and run in the open
Pastures of the sky.
And life lives like new blood, splashed on a face from a cut,
Where the wind-lashed waves have dashed salt water tears
More than any that can fall from my face.
Where my grief is smaller than mist droplets
In the great silence of the endless, empty, mindless, never resting sea.
There you will hear my heart mewling
Like a gull, looking for its lost loves
As little silver fish under the covers of the crashing waves.
Lost forever, as my mind
Rushes into the enormity of time
And time scrubs my life of man
Into its uncomprehending plan.
At the ebb of each receding wave,
As bubbling through pebbles, the sea gathers strength,
And draws back its grappling arm,
For yet another roiling hammer blow on the castle of the shore.
The silence hangs,
In the wind shriek of the storm.
And all around still there are sounds of men,
Of trees falling in empty forests and one hand clapping
But I do not hear them,
And none shall know of my life and loves.
As the crows take to the sky
From the bones of a sheep
Drowned in a drainage ditch.
The sky is dark against the setting sun,
An angry red glow, behind the clouds.
And dark, the trees beseeching the winter sky
Like widows at an Arab funeral.
The path too is dark and wet and cold
Towards the ending and the beginning of the light.
Still we push, certain in our childishness that our life involves our Sun
And this world: where we dub nature perfect
And brag ourselves inspired.
But it is really just the rattle of bones and bits and rags
A child's collection of prized scraps made significant by our lives,
Creating atmosphere in a vacuum,
That is a birthplace and a tomb.
The end of something
The day our relationship finally died,
I felt some little, voice crack, inside.
By now it was a miserable, little thing,
A scared, small abortion of the brave promise
It once had been.
But I had grown attached to it,
And hated delivering blows on its helpless head
To make sure it was completely dead.
For 20 years it had faced countless storms, more
Than any other and I loved it more than father. mother, sister or brother.
It had bravely stood up to buffets, curses and blows,
But in the end it just cowered, snivelling,
And could not wipe its nose.
It had once been arrow proud, tall and strong
Confident both in purpose and in song.
Dressed gaily, in bright silver and golden cloths
And lit with stars.
But now
It shivered there inside and knew that finally, it had reached the end
I looked at it. I could have lied.
I could have said no, pull yourself together, dress yourself down,
There is one more chance for life.
But I did not have the heart
To give it, yet one more false-start
There was no life-support from you, or I
This bloody, little thing, had to die.
Though it was dying of thirst, not one more sup,
Of love could come from our empty cup,
I did it cleanly, decapitated it, as it looked up.
One quick blow from a spade,
In its eyes the tears of the promise we once made.
Now there is no more unhappiness for it to seek
I am burying it now, as I speak.
