III. Nobody's child
Nobody's child is sleeping
'Neath the stair well.
Outside the tender breeze
Rustles autumn’s withered
Leaves, begging
For attention.
Red and golds and browns
Of aged oak and poplar
Whisper
And consort over the hardened ground,
Scratching
At the doorway,
Crying in the throes
Of deathless death,
To awaken the child
And arouse the dead men
From their slumber.
The front porch swing
Rocks
Backward,
Forward,
In between moments.
Between life and death,
Light and darkness,
Between silence and the word
The old chains creak and
Groan under the weight
Of nobody.
And the child, still, lies sleeping
'Neath the stair well.
Over at the schoolyard
The echoes of a song,
In sing-song voices
Patterned like the ivy,
In brush stroke tones
Of green
And mottled brown,
"little Jack Horner, sat in a corner"
...Echoing in the darkness
'Neath the old, cold stair well.
Giggling voices...
Sad and
taunting voices
Whispering and consorting
Over the hardened ground;
And aged oaks and poplars
With their reds
And golds
And browns,
Shiver and groan, (as the world grows)
Cold and silent in between
Death and birth,
Freedom
And happiness, between
Old and new and new again.
And nobody's child stirs
'Neath the old stair well,
...And the ceaseless roar of silence
Shatters
Like a ripple
On the surface of a too still pond.
We await your coming in glory.
We await.
We await.
We await.
technorati tags:poetry, punkmonksf, cantos, spirituality
