RIMBAUD WAS SHARP IN PERCEPTION

WITHIN golden fields of Wheat,–above dying Souls,
tender-pink hearted flowers, gray shadows behind
now: oblique thoughts around disks of sorrowful
memories that challenge the brightest of any
brilliant day,
i expected no thing THEN THIS!
upon a carpet of Earth, of silver filigree,
the emotions of pouring molten golden-pieces
of my feelings; two solid legs as columns
supporting this Soul of mine!

sapphire eyes off the cliff of imponderable
existence comes treasures around the rocks
of my spirit-river: the age of time an illusion
as any moment we breath — the chorus of singing
birds — young and strong!

:: 06.12.2020 ::