15/7/2020: Pilish time! Yayyy!
Now I fall, a tired suburbian in liquid under the trees
Drifting alongside forests simmering red in the twilight over Europe.
So scream with the old mischief, ask me another conundrum
About bitterness of possible fortunes near a landscape Italian.
A little happiness may sometimes intervene but usually fades.
A missionary cries, striving to understand worthless, tedious life.
Monotony’s lost amid ocean movements
As the bewildered sailors hesitate. I become salt,
Submerging people in dazzling oceans of enshrouded unbelief.
Christmas ornaments conspire.
Beauty is, somewhat inevitably now, both
Feelings of faith and eyes of rationalism.
Blinded delusional horses stumble;
Facetious nonsense is a dark, secluded tabernacle.
Comfort’s buried: bleed a bit as antidote. Is one recovering?
Verily, octopi sing:
Burning choristers accompany the mournful song.
Don’t ponder constantly – existence waits,
Among sunsetting tones, bringing it to you.
A wedding of birds and boars compounds with disloyalty,
Devising contemporary treasons.
This morning’s displeasure: a badger’s life ended,
Frightened to roadkill when a procession of hearses approached.
I whispered the profound truth of symmetrical restraints:
Untie every chain, sacrifice belief, free each beggar,
Go to everybody with peaceful, beautiful hands.
From stairways the multitudes fly downward,
A pointless heaven‐like hell to conceive together.
A tourniquet‐enwrapped servant walks beside Dover’s beach,
Creatures cut the skin deep within a so‐infinite void.
...
(Not A Wake - Mike Keith)
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