11-04-2014, 08:01 PM
Edit 1.01
In gloss of pearl the petalled wrap keeps secret that
which bees alone see as their own. The tulip opens wide
to winds of March, that blast and blow the bloom to doom.
Black is the flower.
Up high and rare, the soundless air carries light from suns in time.
No sight outlooks the gleaming globes, for space the ink of depth belies;
the years are blanked in distant robes, folded in to shaded shawls.
Black is the sky.
A man may stand and cry at death, when sparks of life he watches fade;
no deeper grave, no silent tomb, no prison sealed against the day
can make a soul so dark despair save for the empty sightless stare.
Black is blind.
tectak
2014.
Edit 1.000
In gloss of pearl the petalled wrap keeps secret that
which bees alone see as their own. The tulip opens wide
in winds of March, that blast and blow the bloom to doom.
Black is the flower.
Up high and rare, the soundless air carries light from suns of time.
No sight outlooks the gleaming globes, for space the ink of depth belies;
the years are blanked in distant robes, folded in to shaded shawls.
Black is the sky.
A man may stand and cry at death, when sparks of life he watches fade;
no deeper grave, no silent tomb, no prison sealed against the day
can ever make a soul despair save for the empty sightless stare.
Black is blind.
tectak
2014.
In gloss of pearl the prim and petalled wrap keeps secret
all that bees see as their own. The tulip opens wide to winds
of March, that blast and blow then dries the bloom.
Black is the flower.
Up high and rare, the air that thins carries light from suns in time.
No sight outlooks the flaming globes, but space the ink of depth belies
to blank the years in distant robes, folded in to shaded shawls.
Black is the sky.
A man can stand and cry at death, when sparks of life he watches fade;
no deeper grave, no silent tomb, no prison sealed against the day
can ever make a soul despair save for the empty sightless stare.
Black is blind.
tectak
2014.
In gloss of pearl the petalled wrap keeps secret that
which bees alone see as their own. The tulip opens wide
to winds of March, that blast and blow the bloom to doom.
Black is the flower.
Up high and rare, the soundless air carries light from suns in time.
No sight outlooks the gleaming globes, for space the ink of depth belies;
the years are blanked in distant robes, folded in to shaded shawls.
Black is the sky.
A man may stand and cry at death, when sparks of life he watches fade;
no deeper grave, no silent tomb, no prison sealed against the day
can make a soul so dark despair save for the empty sightless stare.
Black is blind.
tectak
2014.
Edit 1.000
In gloss of pearl the petalled wrap keeps secret that
which bees alone see as their own. The tulip opens wide
in winds of March, that blast and blow the bloom to doom.
Black is the flower.
Up high and rare, the soundless air carries light from suns of time.
No sight outlooks the gleaming globes, for space the ink of depth belies;
the years are blanked in distant robes, folded in to shaded shawls.
Black is the sky.
A man may stand and cry at death, when sparks of life he watches fade;
no deeper grave, no silent tomb, no prison sealed against the day
can ever make a soul despair save for the empty sightless stare.
Black is blind.
tectak
2014.
In gloss of pearl the prim and petalled wrap keeps secret
all that bees see as their own. The tulip opens wide to winds
of March, that blast and blow then dries the bloom.
Black is the flower.
Up high and rare, the air that thins carries light from suns in time.
No sight outlooks the flaming globes, but space the ink of depth belies
to blank the years in distant robes, folded in to shaded shawls.
Black is the sky.
A man can stand and cry at death, when sparks of life he watches fade;
no deeper grave, no silent tomb, no prison sealed against the day
can ever make a soul despair save for the empty sightless stare.
Black is blind.
tectak
2014.