Harvest’s Approach

Harvest’s Approach

Boxed in. 
Around, only four hard walls and a brash mantra of tears. 
Pitch rises to ascendance,
         a chanting that shifts one’s plane of consciousness.

Another place, hollow to open darkness; tinkling shines on the horizon of nowhere.
No wind to travel swift, the black ocean flat without accord; 
         submerged under the weight of the world.
Great cavernous echoes reply static nothingness.

The slow journey to arrest;
         even boatmen avoid this place… most.
Time to wait.  Time to think;
         looking forward and thinking back.

Talk alone, sanity to hymn-self out on the subdued waves.
Awaken to a passing light, a barge’s deep subterranean drift-dirge.
Call without chance, vain hope clinging to life.
         …but it’s soulless, like the tides here.
Forgotten is the coin, that speeds harvest’s approach.



OBL Richards