The shadows cast are blank empty spaces. I can hide in darkness deeper than night.
The wind sighs like a hopeless old man. I wish had words of hope for you, Old Man.
A few last dead leaves rustle in the darkness. I'm sorry, leaves. I'm sorry you were left behind.
The grass is brown and flattened. I step and it does not feel my weight or rise behind me.
And, oh, the night is cold. I can feel the cold.
There is a chilly full moon. I wish I could capture the frosty light and hide it away forever. - You wish, do something about it.
ReplyDeleteThe shadows cast are blank empty spaces. I can hide in darkness deeper than night. - Quit hiding. Face up to it like a man.
The wind sighs like a hopeless old man. I wish had words of hope for you, Old Man. - You wish again, and do nothing about it.
A few last dead leaves rustle in the darkness. I'm sorry, leaves. I'm sorry you were left behind. - You're not sorry, you blame the leaves for falling.
The grass is brown and flattened. I step and it does not feel my weight or rise behind me. - It would be healthy grass if you hadn't lit it on fire.
And, oh, the night is cold. I can feel the cold. - Yes, you feel so... deeply.
I will leave your blog alone if you stop looking at mine.
I hope that your day is full of sympathetic smiles! :)
I don't know.
ReplyDeleteIt's a haunting memory, a beautiful glimpse, and something that one would wish to be true only in dreams. Dreams are beautiful, but sometimes hopeless; they should stay dreams (supposed to). Then again... I wouldn't know.
Translation please.
ReplyDeleteWords (a prayer) from another oft-tortured poet:
ReplyDelete"Be adored among men,
God, three-numbered form;
Wring thy rebel, dogged in den,
Man's malice, with wrecking and storm.
Beyond saying sweet, past telling of tongue,
Thou art lightning and love, I found it, a winter and warm;
Father and fondler of heart thou hast wrung:
Hast thy dark descending and most art merciful then.
"With an anvil-ding
And with fire in him forge thy will
Or rather, rather then, stealing as Spring
Through him, melt him but master him still:
Whether at once, as once at a crash Paul,
Or as Austin, a lingering-out sweet skill,
Make mercy in all of us, out of us all
Mastery, but be adored, but be adored King."
-G.M.H.