Rare and precious thing;
you, possessor of hearts.
Strength in your fist,
making light shine
from high precipices,
forcing the life in
and growth to follow.
The wail and the shake
of new birth;
rumbling of Earth
crumbling old world proverbs.
Level the dead
and the angel was on your tongue,
the devil had nearly won;
one more second,
one more relinquished event.
A moment that seemed to sing,
melancholic and strained,
like the cries of the lost Gannet,
circling,
out over the ocean.
You riveted me.
Struck me like a bolt
thrown from god-like heavens,
transfixed my wandering gaze
and reigned me in
under your heavy lash.
Our crimes were never spoken of
in metaphors,
here your truth
lays naked,
unconcerned with drunken candor.
You were never made
to live unafraid.
Smile like a light
lit loud
in songs sung
like thunder
and cannon fire.
Be-gone old refrains!
Our eyes are set fast
on horizons laid
across long
far off territories
yet unclaimed by men.
Your cries,
of the gauntlet’s grip.
That flash,
of old steel’s
rich patina.
Fire,
that burns
the blind eye clean.
We drove forward,
breaking the great void.
Lives we would pass on;
ourselves,
we never lost.
HG – 2016
