|Idle in the darkness…
By HAZARD on 06/20/2010
Rating: No Rating
In this house he lies – spitted. Dyed with
boiled beetroot his lips, blue-black and swollen,
lift words into psalms. On the edge of loss is chaos.
Belief fills me with regret. Falling again for silvered
tongue and soft caresses. Eyes illumine
the shortened darkness in wistful hope.
What lies hide suspicion in clefts, in bedrooms,
in red-bricked ingle nook?
Idle in the darkness, I think in circles.
What allure breaks the dish of crystal hearts;
our wedding gift? What allure claims
silence and betrayal as its tattoo of innocence?
None that moves tears – that proves a fear
quenched by truth. What words I want to hear,
I hear, in remonstrance of happiness engulfed.
Motherhood's miles are wrought on shifting sands.
Children widen the gulf – a chasm of split infinity
trading anger and fear with sorrow.
Black anemones glisten – beached poison
needles spike from crag and ammonite shales.
The past, out of step with the living, sun burned.
Stones grow fat in the mist – on the brows of hills
Sun-light blazes in the pagan leaves. Clear skies
run blue and sever ties with the earth – faux lies?
Stepping-stones cross the brook – where unshod feet
slip and slither on mossed granite – chilled pink
and blotched, carefree, crossing his naked tracks.
The compass dart quivers – clinker built boats dip
like shoals of fish out of water – built for oceans
not the deep – our evolution’s drowning machine.
Quietude wrestles in the dark with thoughts of ague,
of restlessness unhinged from fever – rises
in dumb show: a profound sterility, whiter than lies.
Whiter than cries of annulment steeped in rose
cantered drives. Breakfast wakes, a dawn
sieves truth from tickets in pockets. Rosen lies.
The tower falls – eagle eyed, blood filled,
ready to spurt, salt gushes curdling loves pledge.
Dread - long lived - is its own savoir faire.
© By HAZARD On 6/20/2010 7:57:51 PM