T. Byron K. (studioappal) wrote,
T. Byron K.
studioappal

The River of Swans~ Poem # 61

You have called me to forever/ Enraptured by a morning
path of violets/ the High Heart yearns. O Neruda, your "rose of
creation" was simply wrapped within our dark safety so that we
might ask of one another "where is beauty"/ Locked inside the
ante chamber of our dreaming, this mystery seems beyond
that suffering reproach/ As that great safety chest smells of dust
and bleeds the rust of no-where. Beyond this illusion,
if we might ask/ confess to the night air, breathe the
innocence of those brighter stars/ Into the resurrection,
what past or personality sags this real courage of crucifixion/ O
insipid leaning boundary/ Now your blood may move the song of cicadas/
And black Ravens may understand their ceiling white cries
As this lonely figure of the sun claims your stubborn eyes (of Love's fire)
O Father.

Summer
1996
Revised
6/17/2009
Tags: river of swans
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