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Fissures

Contributed by Obnoxious_Bread on Tuesday, 27th April 2010 @ 09:58:39 PM in AEST
Topic: Lifepoems

These old hands I see before me
seem so unreal, so misplaced

Plate tectonics crash and settle
creating mountains and fissures on once vast plains

And all this time the flames rage on like it does not burn on fuel
but on infinity itself,
consciousness of its fourth dimension a myth,
a fairytale nobody talks about, everyone downplays

But one day the sheep overheard the shepherd
saying all wolves are but sheep in costume
and the sheep looked down and saw nothing
but white cotton where a wolfs pelt existed
he could have put his hand on fire for

And the seed is no more:
germination is complete
and leaves start to grow
but the sad stubborn stem rejects light
like water a fire

but what is seen cannot be unseen
and as I look at these old hands before me I know
I will see them for ever

never shall the plains give way to mountains
never shall the sheep wear a wolfs pelt again
never shat the plant feed on its seed, but now on common light

now the fire burns on a candlestick
on an old shelf, long forgotten,
by every other shelf and every other blind candle trying to forget
its fiery past
and its long gone fuel.

Copyright © Obnoxious_Bread ... [ 2010-04-27 21:58:39]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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