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On narrow lonely pass
I met the holy one at last,
The one that made
The only sun to shine.
I spoke my artful thesis
That he broke the pot to pieces
And wouldn’t deign
To make them recombine.
He said fissures made by sun and shade,
That tear the garden from the glade
Are not the whim
Nor will of things divine.
Vicissitudes of Nature
Tear the earthly musculature.
The fault is hers, he said,
My son, not mine.
So I moved next door to Nature,
Read her garden’s nomenclature.
She confessed her work
Was accident plus time.
But without the cataclysms
That rent my soul to schisms,
I’d have never tried to leave
The seas of slime.
So curse your kings and emperors,
She said, those thrones whose bloody wars,
Divide the earth
‘Long arbitrary lines.
They scar me till I’m fallow,
Send whole races to the gallow.
The fault is theirs, my precious child,
Not mine.
So I stormed the castle of the king,
The one who split up everything.
He let this stranger
Accuse him and opine,
But argued, his protection
‘Gainst savage predilection
Allowed the growth
Of culture and of mind.
Lay the blame upon your muse,
He said, that liquor so abused,
That to drink her
Men would tear their eyes out blind,
Curse their fellow man,
Lay waste upon the land,
The fault indeed is hers,
Good sir, not mine.
At last we came together,
My soul upon this treasure,
This music resolution
To a rhyme,
But she was cryptic so I cleaved her.
I cut her and bereaved her.
The earth tore open,
Flooded dark with brine.
Our rift was deep and storied,
Mountains laid ungloried,
I pulled her into echo
And decline,
In a bid to change the weather
I dreamt the world forever
Fell in the ocean;
The fault, erosion, mine.
But the split released the spirit,
Of the earth, and who revere it
Cultivate a science
Of the signed.
Signals to salvation,
On the byways of creation
Point in all directions;
Falls, ascensions, twined.

This poem is taken from my novel "Abyssinia," which is available as a free download from http://www.oliverbenjamin.net/abys.html.

22 Mar 05

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nice poem.
 — hank

Amazing poem. Not only with the rhythm and rhyme, but the use of description!
 — ct

thanks! i'm glad someone finally read it.
 — ollylama

nice poem olly. lots of violence. i hate violence.
 — hank