Tuesday, September 06, 2011


I call an end to these times,

The quitting of days like the burning of books.

Not another sunset remembered like brilliant cut glass.

Now the final drawing of darkness from an ancient well.

And the arms of mothers will no longer halt harm,

As babes are won by chaos and lost to soil.

To see ships drift from land not by man’s mind

But by the unrest of the wind and the ghostly sea,

As those forces will rule supreme.

As those forces will rule supreme.

To see a cliff as the emblem of our life,

The sure pace of our feet meeting the nothing of air.

And dropping through that shrieking space,

I hope, for your sake and for mine, for our own clarity,

We will feel the commonality of the plane.

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