What is your weather?
So delicate and sure
Sentinal of harvest.
What once glowed gold
Now delicately so tender,
Brown and wilted;
Seeds like rain
Fall from your mane
In one breath of wind
Shaken your stand.
Of all the ancient history
Stored in your very seed,
How does each season
Keep bringing you to me?
So that our fields can grow
Yellow in the fond sun,
So that our vase can be
Filled up with royal thee.
Watch this energy
From our moon
Rise and fall again
She comes and goes
Wiles and whims,
Which cycle is she in?
Look towards evening sky
Might you not see her tonight?
For she cycles
Twelve hours and twenty five minutes
To pull our bones
In gravity
Selene of our mind.
Master deceiver
With no certain name to be
Soviets and their coding
In a massive espionage
Farewell’s dossier concealed
From their uncovering eyes
But still impending doom
From Cold War era gloom.
Weiss had his wording
Trickery at heart
Deep within his scheming
Game theory so well played
Who could ever know
What happened or not
Uncovering the uncoverable
A fruitless task to start.
I pressed your Heart against my Soul;
Two tear drops fell to the Earth.
I picked them up into my grasp
They became for my growth;
Like lightening bolts sent from the Gods
I awoke early to see the frost.
What had always been inside
Now flourished across wide expanse,
And as I inhaled, I felt inside,
My belly came and went
Every breath that thumped beside
My Soul against your Heart.
I am not an angel.
My wings broke,
And the sky laughed
While sun spit pink
Upon both edges
Of the letting horizon,
And just as trees
Bagan to bend
Like wings of a crow
Moving again,
My two feet
So placed
Into thick layers
Of mud, unfolding,
Began to tremble
And quake
Further losing development
Of each gray spot of mind.
Who are the Gods I’ve begun to believe in?
What makes them speak?
If I were to close my eyes
Would they still be helping me?
Could I run far
Without them on my mind?
If they were not so mighty
Would they still be Grand?
And if my Gods
Found other Gods that opposed them
Would they sit down and talk
Eye to eye
God to God
Or would I be called to battle
At the front line
Against the danger of my Gods
Longevity.
Would I still believe so strongly
That my God was a God worthy
Of my blood in battle?
Or would I let my God down,
Find another God that more appeased
My gentle demeanor,
Find another God
I didn’t have to fully submit to
And could pick and choose
How and when I worshiped.
Windows wash away the pain
And the Dust settles
And my Gods lay their hands
Onto my sunken shoulders
And say: “My son, my son.”
And like the letters
That fade away
At the end of bent pages,
These eyes begin to close
And this chapter finds its end.
What spoke at me had not begun yet:
Shadows of midnight,
Forgotten years of destruction,
Long lineups of that which you can.
Into the light of gobsmack,
Can you be my midnight
If the Angel could alight?
Lost souls of yet spoken madness.
Be my witnessed sentry
Gallon of blood tonight.
This is not the answer nor should it be left misunderstood
Gods carefully listened but none took action
Forgotten and dead lay the bushel of corn
Raspy, hoarse, brown
Thickening day lay low
And Divine Interpretation was a plan that could not be laid
For dead leaves had fallen and no new growth was expected
Until the decaying layers of slumber departed
Swift onset of thaw set in for another season under her breast.
What defines the being of a man
A lesson learned
A sacrifice
A dollar in the bank
Which none of them
Could ever be
Since none of them alive
So everyone
Bows down to Gods
That none of Man
The same.