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Midgard

April 29, 2017

onehundredandsixty

A serious man dreams reasoned dreams.
But the sleep of reason breeds ghosts.
Kiss the top of their heads.
Kiss the hem of their shrouds.
My kingdom.
For a steed.
Pale horses peal out when you need them the most.

I knew a man who knew a God.
And I asked him for a sign.
He kissed my lips.
And I kissed his back.
And the choir sang for the light.
You can live on their harp strings.
But believe this, my friend.
There will be an end to all things.
And all things have an end.

It’s a bitter medicine.
A brackish pill.
For children who shivered in church.
Shook before.
The desperate roar.
Of Job in James the First.
You can live a whole life.
Having never understood.
Why ever the this cycle begun.
But the snake on the ground.
Turns around and around.
For he cannot raise his face to the sun.

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From → Poetry

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