Cold rain falls in the river, flows down to the sea, gets into the skyline, circles endlessly. Same old rain on the wind, same old pain in my soul.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Storm On The Horizon

To see an approaching storm, especially in an alone morning, is to inspire my soul to pass beyond my body and grab hold of a thunderbolt and ride it to someplace magical. Someplace other than me and the chains the blue of a false sky have applied.

gravy black
in cauldron bubble
inside out
in summer spill

slow motion rollers
in leathered walk
and steel bands
of outward press

heaven’s prairie
it drives
the chariots of terror
with whips
of bone and feathered iron
across dreams
smothered in platinum

but rough cut
in leathered passion
and prosper
in the vibrato of fury

iron sharpens iron
and trembling
comforts fear
as one moons
to another’s terror
in twisted ambiguity

the daylight
peeking from corners
frames the somber
of wild unrestrained
while assuring relief
through chastisement

the place,
the cradle,
the hope,
the bed,
the tomb,
where thoughts
are bred
to be borne.
dreams to be inspired.
hope to be polished.
fear to be ridden.