“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Friday, June 26, 2020
Fear, Walls, and Fiery Tales
I stepped up
to the mouth of the cave
my chest plated-
the flickering light
sparking
my curious compulsion
for heat.
Come to find
not some majestic dragon
as projected upon a dirt wall
but an angry ogre
whose tongue sparks
and lashes out like
new flames.
The smoke
thick and decrepit,
his heart rots within
while his rosy cheeks,
black lips and eyes a glow
at me.
Despite this
I know, I am safe.
He will never leave
his inner rage
for the stronger
light of day.
And I could feel the heat
from behind
beckoning me back
to a place without...
Artwork by Francisco Goya y Lucientes (1746-1828), 'Seated Giant' circa 1818, in Public Domain.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Feather weather
Before I arose the tangerine sunrise squeezed its citrus air through my bedroom window dripping fresh pulpy nectar of a new day onto the co...
-
Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
The ship sailed West on Sunday The wind was too wild on Wednesday Our arrow plane rips the paper sky, severing space for itself, i...

No comments:
Post a Comment