Tuesday, November 18, 2008

The Cunning Worker

in siderial days like these it seems
my well-built constructs evaporate
and deftly woven artifices fail 'till
all's fleeing; gasping, naked, shipwreck'd

this sand at times so firm underfoot
pr'haps dampened and bound by cement
'tis but sand, and shall revert still
eroded by time; attrited, eaten, windwreck'd

so many castles built of these grains
erections of fallacy, aether and wind
are stormbeaten and on and on 'till
ruined by seas; leveled, lost, shatter'd

the clay Daedalus sought in which to roost
with feathers twisted in wax and hope
plunges silently, a single scream then still
on the surface; sinking, slipping, ruin'd

these tinkling honied lips, mark well
the brazen call of cymbal and coronet
"Buy not the spurious thought, trappings ill!"
time settles all; clarifying, distilling, resolv'd


1 comment:

Gretschzilla said...