longsince
galathaea
where lifeless leaves still hung to break the sunlight
from the cracked and hardened ground
past snagged bunches of down
left by young blackbirds long since flown away
and bred
and died
and up beyond the orange haze
in a corner of what used to be called the sky
on a piece of its torn fabric
i read the barely legible spray-painted words:
don't tread on me
and in abandoned corridor
on the top floor of a forgotten high-rise
in the middle of the deserted city
an infant sat reaching
for a mother that wasn't there
and the power lines hum a song of swarming
for a past that wants the present for its own
and somewhere, long ago
before the dinosaurs
long even before the first plants
or the time of algae
in the cold brine of an empty ocean
under an unforgiving vermillion sky
there was a first thing
molecule or virus or protocell
which turned through the lonely expanses
of an empty sea it never had noticed before
and said:
I AM SOMETHING DIFFERENT!
in a language which still echoes
off the deeper canyon walls
and old man sat on a bench
at night
in the middle of the city
as the chill of winter began to set in
and watched a young group of girls
pass under a street light
on the other side
at the night club
in the incoherent blaze of guitar white noise
and the steady 4/4 drum work of the drum machines
a circle forms in the center of the crowd
as worship begins to a god of pain
in an effort to escape reality
one girl, more numb than the rest
tries uselessly to find her way back
and venus looks like a star tonight
and in the ruins of an ancient temple
something between a church and a courtroom
i or something archetypes can't fathom
steps heavily across the stones and shards
while rainbows slowly side across
an unshaven face
and falling to his knees
at the foot of the magistrate's desk
the phantom lifts his weary head
to the stained glass teeth
jutting from the few remaining walls
and whispers in a voice not loud enough to echo:
i don't want to be different anymore
and a mother takes her child
and places him softly beneath her breast
cradling him and singing gently while he feeds:
don't fade on me
and the scientists gather on the hill above their great experiment
and etched on the film
formed in holographic symphonies of superheated helium
the bubble chamber tracks grew
curve by scintillating curve
slowly carving
the lines
on the face
of the man
i still have never met
Bese
However I really liked the images your words made in my brain. hope, fear,
pain...decay
I enjoyed it...I liked the mystery too
Bese
"galathaea" <gala...@excite.com> wrote in message
news:b22ffac3.03060...@posting.google.com...
Rick
Hey, nice poem.
Kinda reminds me of...
"Across the mud huts where the children sleep
Through the alleys of a quiet city street
Take the staircase to the first floor
Turn the key and slowly unlock the door
As a man breathes into a saxophone
Through the walls we hear the city groan
Outside it's America
Outside it's America"
U2 - Bullet the Blue Sky