Thursday, September 10, 2009


I am ambivalent about getting up on this virtual soapbox and ranting away like some silly sidewalk prophet. But so it goes. This one, "?," is fairly recent.


This is the end
The end of days
Of hours and powers
And senseless sleep.

This is the time
To stop the clock
And tell the seconds
Till they're gone.

This is the day
To grasp the sun
And paint it black
And watch it fade.
This the bed
Of nails you made
To lay yourself
Upon and rest.

This is the path
Through forests of night
And over tombs
Of trembling dead.

This is the bell
That tolls for thee
In every halting
Hissing breath.

This is the dust
That drives the wind
And wears your body
Down to bone.

This is the stream
Become the flood
Of blood now pounding
In your ears.

This is the year
Of drought and plague
That rides in screams
Of locusts' wings.

This is the hot coal
That lies on your tongue
The fire from the sky
That scorches your bowels.

This is heaven
Torn down from on high
This is hell
Dragged up to the light.

This is the sound
Of the fury set free
This is the agony
This is the way.

This is the quest
And the question...?