Saturday, January 7, 2017

At the Edge of Horizon

Artwork by George Hodan

     It’s not easy, not really easy
Living at the edge of horizon
     Sun set not, moon rises late
Tidal feelings quake indoor
     Being is all but illusory being
Ethereal muse kindle me out of self
      Whilst amid time I’m tied to heave
Read not anymore my dear eyes
      For in every word is mourns of lonely heart
Sculptured everywhere as stars are to heavens
      Hear no more my kind ears
For in every song are cries of straying soul
     Lost amidst foggy cold nights of December
Oh poor nose of mine, divine you are
      And innocent as wisdom is to the mad Emperor
And hands are, I console myself in thinking so,
      Quaky as thoughts are to the touch of her pure being
Our brokenness is a language we cannot translate
      Nor possibly understand where it springs from
But its banks and beds willingly set in our wildest dreams
      I acquired poetry not for pitching my voice high
But for waking gone-missed mountain lovers
      With the loudest amongst all my silent hearts

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