Democrat, Illinois - The ElectroLounge

30 !
xlix. Work of Years
Who I was is who I am yet
who I am isn’t who I was while
blood wilds streams through rock of years
& even the brightest thing in the night
is fading with a hunger nothing tame
can hold back nor wild can maintain.
Does the heart eat its way out at
last, & men simple call it death?
Do bones fall to forever dreaming
without days to divide & distract?
Who I was & what I am a beggar
scholar’s work of years, faith of glass.
Hard want to make, to possess,
to twine burst an unknown hour’s knots,
undo the collision of breath futile heated
with diminishing figures, unknown torsos.
Reck the empty temples, woods of
a single tree, oceans at war, great cry
for more violence at a continent’s distance.
Burning villages on private maps, not shown
by lights, not what I was, what I am, who you are.
******
l. Late Requiem for a Brother
You stood up, shaky, ignorant of the praise,
a lost year, a lost child, one day died
a careless death.
To remember your first steps, new hours,
ambers you in victory, despite the rest,
spite the rest, wild thing, now you rest.
******
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