my
eternal struggle for a throne
milky
tent weave May
with
its leaves at full sail
and
its myriad limbs availed to wind
holding
signs in every crawl vine of desire
what
is it about late Spring and this slow fire
that
leans me to sing sorrow
in
each burrow of anticipation
is
it that Summer is soon upon me
as
the Oak King gathers strength
to
burn bright the wane of seed-gained portals
is
the coronation the ornate filling of every body
I
seek for pleasure, treasuring every spirit held
as
if a whisper or a quiet smile in the near dark
3
am and the birds begin
every
sin I have laid with
can now dig into me
and
find me here waiting
watching, matches in hand
for
their songs know
I am more acorn than man
more
danger than nurture
with
each fistful of dreamed about hair
and
every Goddess who dares me to go
outside
being chained to my past regard
full
of raining glass and the borrowed
tomorrows
I sacrifice so that they are
born
blind too into my
grubbed
mouth feasting for more
I
am just another beast
with
slow wings and
a
heart full of fear
even
in the bouquet and
the
caterpillar arrays
and
spider-webbing of rhyme
I
sometimes refuse to admit myself
to
where I can be divine
to
where I can give up my shadows
just
to shine
just
to be
just
me
EJR
©
"holding signs in every crawl vine of desire"
ReplyDeleteThere really are many lines here that I love, it would be a long list.
Great poem...