Tuesday, April 28, 2015

New poem (unfinished)

The Moon (unfinished)

One day,
After it has died,
We will hold a vigil for the moon.

We will burn candles,
Cheap mimics of its light,
& utter prayers we forgot to utter
While it still lived.

And we will say,
"Remember how it
spoke to us its bone-coloured dreams?
Remember how it gave us hope
When all else seemed savage?"

And some will say it was carved 
From whale bone,
While others will swear it was a coin
Flicked from the thumb of God.

And Death will come down the alleyways,
Ringing its bells & swearing its oaths,
Singing its story through
The windows of a ruined world.

And the executioner will cry silently
For those he has slain.
He will caress their shadows
& tell them to run.

But he, they, us,
Will have nowhere to go,
No final memory
But a taste of the moon,
Who once so sweetly told us
Of what we might dream.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

This is beautiful.