Sorry for disappearing without a word. Life has been hectic lately... Anyway, this was a piece I produced out of a night of absolute torment. It's pretty meaningful to me... hopefully others will get something out of it (forgive my liberal screwing with the sonnet form):
Moving Mountains
I swear I saw the mountains move, if just
An inch, but maybe more. But does it matter
To the moors, asleep on valley’s floor?
That river dines on empty dreams. It’s fatter
Now, or though it seems. It loves to lust
And smell the scents of flower-honeyed whores.
The wind winds down the rolling hills to touch
The planes of grass that tremble to their roots
And spirits come at leisure, when it suits
Their pleasure. I swear, I know, it’s all too much.
And nature hears the gods and bend their wills
To becks and calls. While silence reigns in man’s
Own mind: in winter light and buried sands
That dim the darkening glass of Autumn’s chill.
Oh, I believe in what I see and hear and smell
And taste: And yet I fear to fall, and feel your hell