Her silent stone children still
stand in dead rows along the coast-
Remnants of majesty & truth.
As Hendrix played Purple Haze
with feedback shriek
carefully controlled,
A slowly swelling rage
was born within us.
The campfire
turned the burn of bourbon
into so much more
than it had ever been before,
Nothing will ever be the same.
Nothing will ever be as pure.
We ruled with small iron fists
in control of nothing & everything,
All at once,
Magnets were miracles
of our omniscient maker's
imagination,
The moon followed us
on the ride home
as if it had nothing
more to do,
We built it all from the ground up
But the world has left it in ruins,
Only those lonely
distant monoliths
remain.
What a beautiful poem. Very aching imagery.
ReplyDeleteThis is really very beautiful. Quite evocative.
ReplyDeleteexcellent poem! loved the language and imagery!
ReplyDeleteor is it in fact kingdom of our myth? i'm not sure at which end of the scale clarity resides, if in fact there is such a thing? perhaps there is only belief.
ReplyDeletei like this very much,
The campfire
turned the burn of bourbon
into so much more
than it had ever been before
xo
erin