Something Informs the Tall Green Grass
We have only inklings of the magnificence Of what we are doing; My eyes have reddened on unalterable day. The orb of my philosophy is threatened by fire. Let the cold weather break before we damage The face we put on the void. Something informs the tall green grass, Alive its sway. Adsorbed in the milky tones of your voice; My eyes sewn with the sinews of your display. Among the stars our tales resound, As we open out like flowers to the sun. It has been assured: thought the road is long, The old lady is ever at the teahouse! He has journeyed the heartland; He has forsaken the coast – Managing to make of scarcity, a meal. Your flesh numbed by an experience Too fearsome to warrant our approach. Stunned into your persuasion of sustained revelation Astonished into glee! Birds fly off at my approach, As the sawyer builds my gazebo. Into the forest, tonight, I will trample – Watching, from the darkness, The approaching day…
- David Young
Published on Nov 14, 2009
- David Young © 2003 The orb of my philosophy is threatened by fire. Let the cold weather break before we damage The face we put on the void...