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by Sleeve
Rated: E · Other · Fantasy · #1436858
Narrative poem in three cantos.
Canto I

The hours cracked by the sliver screen
Life in a screen,
Sounds in a package in the dust
And attics,
Action in the front
Eye glazed and red and time
Spinning and twirling
Time spinning past me
And I stood,
And I walked
Away from the board of needles
Board of duties, board of friendly static
Into another air current.
A friendlier one
(Without people)
and the dark and solid coldness
fake walls.
Sweat of life
Heat of fire
Heart of fine metals
Purifying waters,
A shower.
Stumbling
For flesh is weak,
Into the box, stumbling
Purifying waters.
Disintegrate
This into great
(Not now, please)
Falling between the cracks,
Into the drains
Soul into water
Soul in waterfall
Loss of self.

Canto II

I fell as rain onto a isolated forest community,
And I watched and felt the moisture through the glassy, smoky screens
Children dashing from my tears.
And there were two boys,
One dark, one light
Who played in the rain without care
I wanted to run to their homes and embrace their parents.
And there was an old woman in the cottage,
And her smile was of the cold moon.
She handed me a kitten,
And I caressed it gently and quietly
For it was her soul,
And soon it would become hard and an opal,
And I would shatter it over the waste like a plate.
With the oath of the vision of the end carved into my chest,
Parched with thirst I was;
I am homeless again,
And we leave.

Canto III

The thorns gave birth to nettles
And the nettles gave birth to wire,
And the wire was everything
And nearly kissed the ground
But I was being birthed through it.
I was crawling in the poisonous baptism
The filthy rite to an unheard plain
To discover and hear a snatch
Of song
A single note which may bestow
The skin and flesh upon me.
I crawled
With the kitten, which was her soul
And I dirtied it as I laboured
Under the sinful filigree and
Blood pointed sparks.
I was birthed:
And yet I was still disunited in the foreign plain
The guns were beating and bleating,
And I was away and afraid,
And the horrid delicate infrastructures,
The light bird bones:
Crushed by my doing.
I put down her soul
And crouch in the dirt
For a drop of water.



© Copyright 2008 Sleeve (sleeve89 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1436858-Voda