From the Rampart

Where there is no light,
There is replete darkness.
Undisturbed, tranquil darkness.
No Ripples in the water,
No movement on the seas,
No silhouettes on the horizon.
The sun doesn’t rise
Quite as high as hoped.

In the silent and immobile spread of clouds,
I hear the ringing in my ear:
The ringing of the absence of sound.
My eyes glance to and fro,
No lantern or light,
No star shining in invisible sky.
Clouds hang low, but do not threaten
The inert air.

The sea swallows everything into its depths,
Endless as the sky above.
No animal stirs, nor eye peers.
I reach out my hand, can’t perceive
Can’t know how far I can go.
Cool static air,
Neither hot nor bitter.

From the ramparts we watch.

Begging hurricane, praying storm;
War, destruction, crime.
Forth come, the sickle,
Forth come, the stone to crush,
Forth come, the day
Which breaks equanimity apart.
Tearing glaciers shatter like glass
against the concrete floors of my soul.
Discord, tumult, discomposure, clamor, turbulence.


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