..
of living dangerously
of fire and steam
and dreams that go up
in smoke.
of chalking the street
with our tumble-numbered
days and wonderwandering
through the slew
of things we thought
we wanted.
of scales
and skin
and the places deep
within us that don’t
always see the light.
of flight.
and fight.
and scream and silence
and the long-born right
to bare
our souls.
of ancient skies
and secrets.
of tails
whipped right ’round
and stripped of sound
and steeped in sorrow.
of pages
and leavings
and the heavings
of chest and breath
and unspangled hands,
unspent.
of talons and teeth
and familiar fragile face.
of scrim rent.
of thorned crown.
of drowning in indigo
and star-spilled grace.
..
Prompted by Poetic Asides.
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These words resound in my Eustace-heart.
of living dangerously
of fire and steam
and dreams that go up
in smoke.
One certainly is open to onslaughts that threaten our well-being which may affect us adversely! In the process what we dream of can get scuttled. Rightly so De!
Hank