Poem XIX

[YaMarVa]

I recently started writing poetry to assist my writing in other projects, this is a poem from my first collection of attempts. Thanks for reading.



XIX

Hark, the grand symphony of the Canyonlands!

From flat ground you orchestrate your concert

Deep in timeless form,

Retarding my place in the present.

Your multitude of layers, weathered,

Exposes nature’s gallery of fine-arts;

As nothing compares in composition

To what has been shown beneath your cover.

Let the drainage from the High Colorado Rockies

Deform your face; Scar, mold, and wound.

Let the harsh winds and storm-clouds chagrin

Over the vast Basin and Range

To cosset your formation.

From the eternity of slow movements,

To impacts sudden,

I see with my eyes of the present,

Your simple definition of time.

I feel the flush breeze

That silks your scarlet face smooth,

Forming the features I witness Divine.

Or on high ground,

to the Canyon’s bottom, either

Can I pertain to measure my dictum of place.

Rescind from the wallows of Man

Joggling in the pinnacle of society,

To the Canyonlands!

Where by peer glimpse, all the façades

Bestowed a man, amount little

To the limits of a revived visual-latency.

I pour the blood of god

Dripped red on these walls, pervaded its stain

So graceful for our divine exposure

That I have sought hard to witness.