April 2009 Archives

No one mourned the Pyramids when the Pharoahs died.

The people came to collect their stones.
For their
markets, hearths, for themselves.

Only today's Kings venerate the spoils of past Kings.

For the Pyramids dissolution is as natural as it's creation
or preservation.

Wind, temperature, Fingers!
For they seek the gentle path,
make square stones round,
make existence beyond sustenance.

Does the sun seem dimmer today?
A train hurries in the background,
its chugging, its clanking knows all.

Does the lake seem less full today?
I can hear crickets toss their language about,
my feet stomp through leaves pausing their debate.

Does the path seem narrower today?
My clumsy body falls between rocks,
blood runs between my fingers,
I gently squeeze the flesh around the scratch.