|
By Louis Hamric Submitted by lhamric3 Date: 2002 Jan 07 Comment on this Work [[2002.01.07.18.06.13942]] |
|
The Ark Let us belong on that ark When the dawn reddens our eyes as they open, Like that pin prick dropping a sample of blood on the tray Spreading across the glass and over the chiseled edges. The humbled recess of dreams Of graceful walks tripping over speed bumps And cold jail cell benches with silent respiration. Highways traveled rolling up behind you With impotent arguments Leading us to more undefined destinations. Are you asking where we're going? Let us steer forward toward those stars. I tried to explain this painting to someone, But they did not know it was someone. The years that rubbed rocks into beaches, The years that rubbed that grain into a pearl within the oyster's mouth, Left it's mouth gaping open, Lingering in quicksand that hadn't dried, Letting the tide fall further from the shore, The wood boards creaked, rocked by that evening post Seeing the moonlight shatter the flat horizon As the sea enwrapped the ark, and fell asleep. And unraveled flags were whipping For the cold winds that beat the walls were ripping, Rubbing its face into stretched sails. There comes morning, there goes night. Too many faces that you meet -- and none with pity. There's still destruction's love -- but the fire has no heat. And we stick close to that flicker -- and our shoulder's touch. That moment you stand and leave the questions where you sat. That separated shoulder needed attention. And not a word -- you mention. Not a moment left for decisions...intentions...revisions, Before the breaking, Before the taking, Before the chasing became the leave. I tried to explain the painting to someone, But they did not know it had been lost. And in time the sun will rise To wander, aimless without our stars. The waves build their mass and boost their peaks. With a crashing over the tops We dive, the pitch falling fast, The temper of descent spiraling the pool Whirling the morning coffee speak into bitter confusion. There the mast cracks; there the sails are pierced. Do we dare Turn and turn that wheel away? In a minute the sparkling water's fine. For that moment those defined places make the mind clear. For I have seen that land with sunken footprints. I have heard those seagulls trapped on shore. I used to feed them from poor hands. I used to bury them when they died underneath the sand. Beneath the wind that pushed them away Before they reached the sea's torrent face. And I was friends with many warm eyes; The eyes that whisper words in your ear underneath the table. And I used to play with imaginary hands. And I can almost still hear their applause. When will they stop clapping, and start for another? Then who should it be? Tell me when was it that we were told: "You must stop playing now." And I have had enemies with spiked spines, Backs so brittle they walked bent over. Peering hate into your eyes, Burning to peel the curve from their back, Stand up straight and walk away. It was torment that medicated their pain Is it something I did that made me strange? A target to be practiced upon was my purpose, Life stopped as the caged lion in the circus. Shall I say, I have waken early to see that sun rise, And breathed deep into that morning dew, Laid across all the cabin gentle in waiting. To slide these shoes' bottoms vertical. My back aching flat on these hard wooden boards, "I should have been a pair of ragged claws Scuttling across the floors of silent seas."** And now as our stomachs settle The acid burns from projectile thoughts Asleep, covered with silk sheets. She rests her heaven eyes. Her small little lips as a child's. Her breath so soft as that little chest raises and lowers. Rolled over onto her side, My body remembers how it used to wrap around her back. My legs entwined with her thighs, And with all the silent calm I cannot bear to shut my eyes, But as she sleeps I'm watching And for a little while we are warm. And would we think at all when we arose To speak at all. After breakfast is made with toast and tea Among the rocking constancy The shipped illness setting way again Would we again be clear to see To flat horizons, stirring rough tides past, To roll over the higher peak And sail through the dark bottom wells, Rising again with the sun in the morning To peak the maidenhead true to pristine patterns forth, Where the creeping murmur finds no heart. And would we think at all when we arose To rise and fear not the fall. After there we disagree, After open opinions cease to seek the throat, And small hearts grow open to look, To understand the reason that there they stand. Among the seas that love demands Would we think at all To speak at all? And holding that wheel that ship breaks waves, Piercing holes in the sky that reddened our eyes. Is this where we were meant to move? No! I am not martyr's wish, nor will be. Age says, I am not a slave chained down under. To sweet brave action is merely all I can do But hold no fears that doubt should ensue. This prince, your darkness, has eyes that cannot hate. And with those eyes I am love defined. And difference makes intentions choose. This ark is that life we use. The path is lit with burning fuse, That explosion one I cannot excuse. I tried to explain the painting to someone, But they did not know it was someone loved. Shall the weather be made for our focus I shall dress as it provides As hope prevents love from committing suicide. The creatures below sing with their flowered blows. And I can see them pushing the tides to new shores Calling all faiths to sing in tune. When the wails whiten the caps around We linger among the rising sun Wakened for that sun to open new eyes Till love, Till death Our ark that never dies. By Louis Hamric **(This line was written by T.S Elliot.) |