08-27-2014, 05:46 AM
Edit 1:
I walked beneath the spreading skies, which touched
down into foothills far away. My eyes
surveyed, in silent stalks, a chain that lay
lost to rust in the sprouting mutes. One vein,
a withered thread, still held decaying roots
in crusted links, the trapper now the prey
to shouts of wind and floods that fell, the vow
of nature, of impermanence, kept well.
The strand was one of thousands more, long since
lost, whose eclipses shimmered there before
in cosmic orders, rotations… stripped bare,
no more to hold dewy constellations
up to the setting moon, entomb, or tell
of death, woven on such an unseen loom.
Original:
I walked beneath the spreading skies, which touched
down into foothills far away. My eyes
saw, in some silent stalks, a chain that lay
and rusted in the sprouting mutes. A vein,
a withered thread still held decaying roots
in crusted links, the trapper now the prey
to shouts of wind and floods that fell, the vow
of nature, of impermanence, kept well.
The strand was one of thousands more, long since
lost, whose eclipses shimmered there before
in cosmic orders, rotations… stripped bare,
no more to hold dewy constellations
up to the setting moon, entomb, or tell
of death, woven on such an unseen loom.
I walked beneath the spreading skies, which touched
down into foothills far away. My eyes
surveyed, in silent stalks, a chain that lay
lost to rust in the sprouting mutes. One vein,
a withered thread, still held decaying roots
in crusted links, the trapper now the prey
to shouts of wind and floods that fell, the vow
of nature, of impermanence, kept well.
The strand was one of thousands more, long since
lost, whose eclipses shimmered there before
in cosmic orders, rotations… stripped bare,
no more to hold dewy constellations
up to the setting moon, entomb, or tell
of death, woven on such an unseen loom.
Original:
I walked beneath the spreading skies, which touched
down into foothills far away. My eyes
saw, in some silent stalks, a chain that lay
and rusted in the sprouting mutes. A vein,
a withered thread still held decaying roots
in crusted links, the trapper now the prey
to shouts of wind and floods that fell, the vow
of nature, of impermanence, kept well.
The strand was one of thousands more, long since
lost, whose eclipses shimmered there before
in cosmic orders, rotations… stripped bare,
no more to hold dewy constellations
up to the setting moon, entomb, or tell
of death, woven on such an unseen loom.