07-16-2021, 10:23 PM
[b]The Sunspots I Envy[/b]
O courier of the baneful night,
Must you enslave, suppress the tints
and stash day's salience out of spite
to drape a pall o’er twilight’s flint?
You slash to streams the glabrous sun
You best each sky, but cede the morn
The coup of birdsong swells to stun
Your onyx czars that fade, forlorn.
The salve of dawn will shimmer slight,
Within the jagged shadow loom
of sunstreaks stifled, their laked light
leaks sun mosaics through oak booms.
What splendid augur Spring divines-
The seams shot through the wedded wood
infract buds crowning braided vines,
To push the pleated bulbs to hoods.
From westward whim a gale twirls lone,
perturbs the ungrazed pasture strands
The hapless reeds twitch, then lay combed
Stripped seedlings sow stalks, borne again
Unlike this soul, whose meandering stem
Diffuses not one sprightly clone!
Pleased would I field my merriment
But I must face this dearth alone.
Still I have watched each birthing day
expire the pristine, nascent tense
of morn- Congealing this array
would nurture long the famished sense!
To salve my stricken countenance,
I care not how communion stirs,
By life ascetic’s ply and grant,
By Sage’s scry, or Gnostic nerve.
Deface myself, I’d overthrow
All epistemic slant, ego
O courier of the baneful night,
Must you enslave, suppress the tints
and stash day's salience out of spite
to drape a pall o’er twilight’s flint?
You slash to streams the glabrous sun
You best each sky, but cede the morn
The coup of birdsong swells to stun
Your onyx czars that fade, forlorn.
The salve of dawn will shimmer slight,
Within the jagged shadow loom
of sunstreaks stifled, their laked light
leaks sun mosaics through oak booms.
What splendid augur Spring divines-
The seams shot through the wedded wood
infract buds crowning braided vines,
To push the pleated bulbs to hoods.
From westward whim a gale twirls lone,
perturbs the ungrazed pasture strands
The hapless reeds twitch, then lay combed
Stripped seedlings sow stalks, borne again
Unlike this soul, whose meandering stem
Diffuses not one sprightly clone!
Pleased would I field my merriment
But I must face this dearth alone.
Still I have watched each birthing day
expire the pristine, nascent tense
of morn- Congealing this array
would nurture long the famished sense!
To salve my stricken countenance,
I care not how communion stirs,
By life ascetic’s ply and grant,
By Sage’s scry, or Gnostic nerve.
Deface myself, I’d overthrow
All epistemic slant, ego