Walking inbetween the heathen trees
That coax the dark to fatten up thin fears
I throw about these prayers like amulets.
What credulous blood slinks through these dumb veins!
Leaning to some prehistoric voice,
It trembles, picks up pace and rushes on
To the fleshdark hollows of the heart
Where reason - paper thin - is flushed away
and the pulse makes music: brash, unschooled
but teaching nonetheless your tongue to stir
and sing aloud the scorn of gravity.
This is a world's end; you know the score.
Faith in the shapeless dirt is fading fast
and giving way to ghosts and hope and fire.
Fine sonnetry, Wooden, both this and the others!
ReplyDeleteGives me hope!
These were practise pieces in some ways. I thought a little schoolroom discipline would help the work as a whole. When I sat down to write, the words came with speed and insistence; I was taking dictation (almost).
ReplyDeleteI'd always wondered about keeping them on the site. They seem raw and give away too much too directly. Now I'm glad I've kept them on. Their music is something worth hearing.
Thanks, Larry
It helps my hearing. Thanks for keeping them on.
ReplyDelete