eclipse Posted November 23, 2016 Share Posted November 23, 2016 These are the eyes I promised tothe sun, who sought sight-to cry,when you see the winds tell medo they dream about the seasonsand what colour eyes are thoseof winter?. My old friend can drawthe moon from memory but not me,there is my face all aflame on asketchbook. You rode tigers, Itook their camouflage to hide fromdanger, Whose heart was likechurch bells ?-only revealed atcertain times, conveyed once ina painting of me against night skies,a comet almost passing through silverear-rings. Bells sang for medals hungon returning troops and one silent kingwith a bald sovereign containing fadedfaces worn down in clenched fists andwinter's eye held in death's bellybuttonyearning to look into those of the sun.I did cross the moon's palm with silverhoping he would pass to haul unfadingmemories that are always out of seasonwe shared a common dream of being in a desertencased in ice facing each other, unsure of identity,between us one man bell-ringing, cathedral razedto the ground where you lost your vision. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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