Plenty Men…

September 2, 2015

The night was Blood-red-black
Y’know?
Like:
Can’t see your brother’s hand
Before your face.
But a voice spoke out of that darkness.
Slack,
It may have been both
Wisdom and Disgrace,

Saying:

“Ever and anon
We swing and swing
Swing on

These pendulums we
Call life
Collide
And held-hopes break,
I tell you,
Break!
As kept
Inside.

‘No man is an island,’
Ha!
I would sing it to my guitar.
Plenty men are silent, though,
And apathy may mar

Our continent
More
Than straits ever could.”

Here the voice waned
Quiet, faint,
And ’twas there I understood

That it sounded from a man
Too far
From wielding what he’d learned.

Death was calling,
And his life would answer,
But the truth of love’s lesson still burned

Enough.
He would share.
For beneath this world’s
Troubled seas,
Deep, like arteries
There fare
Mathieu’s dreams.

chunnel II

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