Ancient Poetic Ruins
Imaginary granite words crush through my
Wandering mind, exposing jagged stone
Memories and vague questions of
Amorphous form, where space, and
Metamorphic matter mix symbolic
Similes into cobblestone sentences:
Unwritten pebbly poems, mumbling in
The insatiable never-land of my being,
Tossed to and fro by rock-strewn allusions,
Along with primordial ideas painted in slate
On fire lit walls of my gravelly soul,
Become stony ephemeral perceptions.
Images of lost poets’ words become
Blurred visions in a dreamlike world,
Disturbing my tranquility: As I sit in the
Eroding scree of rock-strewn reflections
My soul tries to perceive new visions, but
In the tangle of my mind, I only envisage
Paragraphs of flinty allegories where
Words implode into grainy poetic ruins:
I become distantly contented amidst the
Company of dead poets: My fear,
Sitting in the rubble of their entombed existence is
That I will be awakened by acts of morality, and
Be forced to awaken to today’s reality, thus being
Forced to take up my bloody pen against
The sea of chaos in the warring world, and
In doing so, smash what gentleness remains in
My gritty being. As memories of long dead poets, and
Their poems develop into rocky images, I
Pine for that, which is forever gone… or never was.
- James Piatt 2013
James Piatt is a poet from California.
Cool!
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