poem 158 of a poem a day for 2012

introduction to sand 

I am a soul

threadbare in a world

that no longer needs

someone to say

what's beneath

the skin of things

as if I only angels

wanted wings

and trumpets and

blades to know the pomp

and circumstances

that whore time

for more chains

when I see one

of my kind I know

what is useful to them

and what I can do to

paint the enemy closer

to be the mirror

to be nearer

the outside of my fine

to be a wasted divinity

so sometimes

I don't say a word

and just hang blood

beneath the bark of

a tree slung vine

not crawling

not calling as another

silent poet might

wait for their finality

in a song that sees

an end of light to be

we hear taps

perhaps play

in this modern age

but it's just the wind again

carving whistles in our bones

that begin to sage the seas

that eventually

take every land

and turn it to heaves

into pulsed desires  

and those sands in glass

that hope caresses

each prayer to pass

to clutch threadbare

where I am a soul

alone and aware

that stones 

big and small turn

all the dark 

back into here

EJR ©