Time

a recent muddle of dreams..

He said, 'Come, early Winter, there be a crease of space about three in the chill of morning.'

'Was unknown time when night moths unfold their wings then, sing benisons

to new-born stars.

They - poor fragile beings, nudged into space to race one another.

Onwards, forwards - they, crossing a vast void to find a promise.

A golden land where each man is another's brother.'

Comes pause when time holds its breath

When human children moan their intentions to be good an' kind before the great man comes.

He, bearing gifts as did aged men once on the walls of ancient caves.

Caves, deep-bound solid edifices  covered by unintelligible shapes an' silent sounds. 

Is said their striations will never truly be transcribed.

Too many tongues an' ears have laid intrigue or guesswork too little or too late

Intention wrongly writ, suggestions incorrectly lit by a sad scribes' near blind tallow. 

Those were the days when Mankind gave what it could rather than make believe what it had.

Tripping or sauntering across lands as if circus people ready to raise canvas for a drum of thunder

'Tween that an' its sharp lit companion, moving on across salt flats..  

dull gold deserts.. et al

That extraordinary terrain flatter than drifting murmurs along with breathless noise hid under odd shaped fungi.

Blessed then by vintage blackberry wine drip-dripping into morning dew

The gloriously reflected palette of a never before dawn. 

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

"the days when Mankind gave what it could rather than make believe what it had"
Amen to that.
Something is definitely missing in this new world of ours...
Maybe it is the sweet tasting wine of salvation...and what we are recreating...is tasteless.
You are able to take uncomfortable topics and slip them to us in gorgeous cloak with your words.
j.

[emmajoygreen]

Should be asleep, jacob.. but that muddle of a dream kept returning. So, happily, gratefully and deviously accepting your very kind and understanding comments. Will visit in the real morning - now 04.56, when my niece-matron-warder (!) gives her permission. Sweet dreams, sir.