by Mike M.
Nocturne
Crust covered, creaky feet, marching on twigs.
I gaze at the moon. Owls cry, none are seen.
Some stay ‘round the fire. Logs snap and scream.
I recall home, only the snout of pigs.
Seated, silent. All falls off in one glance.
Orion ambulates above. What can
I do with this life? Not one thing. What plan
Does man carry through infinite expanse?
Children joyfully toss ‘round the divine.
I join them knowing all the rules. Before
One mote of dust is the rose scent divine.
Rest now, your work boots have fallen apart.
You are never without. There is no lack.
Make it a comedy, make it your art.
This was enjoyable! Thank you.
I got so inspired that I wrote this just now.
I have carried the weight of Atlas
Upon my burderned shoulders
I discard the heavy baggage
Into the pit of wilderness
I am a dismal cry in the wilderness
Searching for the sacred centre
I am the cry of the white wolf
Holding up the banner of strength and wisdom
Alas, the Gods have now Fallen
And the Titans gain power
As caesarian rule destroys humanity
Where to look for salvation
now when everything
has crumbled to dust?
Beautiful!