I turn away to shadows formed
across this jagged world of storms,
where mountain bones jut up
hungered by the day’s long sun—
it’s cold eye bleeding down
like some old malformed thing;
unblinking, distant— alone.
Unknowing of its destiny
it moves to hidden forces;
and they alone shape
formless horrors in the mind;
seductions from some other clime.
Back to earth’s green tomb
it all goes unnoticed as it should,
the pulsing life of each broken thing:
striving, warring, moving round;
each unknowing of the other’s wound,
each unfolding in a dreamless sleep;
till night, moon, stars, and time
revolve within this darkness without sound.
– Steven Craig Hickman ©2019 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.