when i was a child in ages dark demons chased me through the park and angels though in charge in me laughed loudly at my misery
and when i finally tripped and fell you raised me with the hand of hell angel born and demon bred you introduced me to the dead
the dead whose wide and staring eyes were whiter than the winter skies who sat all night on fog wet benches sad sentinels of eternal trenches
the dead whose soft and wordless lips twisted like slowly sinking ships in black and bottomless seas in unreverberating reveries
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6 comments:
A brilliantly accomplished poem. Your words and rhythm am put me in mind of Blake.
The third is the penultimate stanza for me:
"The dead whose wide and staring eyes
were whiter than the winter skies."
Can't we always see the dead best in winter?
Your artwork is jarringly beautiful.I have so enjoyed your work on this blog.
wonderful rythm, it gives me a feeling of entanglement.
megan and ande,
thank you both very much
Absolutely wonderful. Thank you Timmy.
Lovely poem. Multilayered and unpredictable.
I really like Megan's comparison to Blake, who I'm a big fan of. This has that same mystical, dream like feeling to it. And of course Blake was a master illustrator.
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