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R.I.P.
by Philip F De Pinto
in opening one eye
leagues from dry
out flew a butterfly
who knows how a butterfly
could muster flight
given its dampened wings
gotten from streaking across
the ledge of an eye far from dry
but out it flew
and who knew
that in opening the other eye
a Sahara by compare
that same butterfly should dare
enter where other butterflies dared not
for it meant a forfeiture of liberty
and who knows why
every night which is a closed eye
a pencil weary of flight should retire to its dorm
which was a drawer or why it was a loose sketcher's habit every morn
to pull open that dorm that a pencil should take flight once more
and streak horizons cross a wall
that each should balance a man doing his high wire act
the lines of which would culminate into Van Gogh's ear
or why the half chewed eraser on that pencil was as good
as an razor to erase that ear at least in part
if not his fear - if only it possessed the heart
as well rub out the net under which a man on a high wire
becomes too dependent upon - erase - eradicate
that he might gain a greater confidence to fly skewer the air
like a fox
making a soft landing upon the lair of an iris
in lieu of nets which is a kind of bliss
the sort that pulls the covers of an eye lid
o'er itself
that it might
rest in pax
04/11/2013 Posted on 04/11/2013
Copyright © 2024 Philip F De Pinto
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Steve Michaels on 04/11/13 at 02:05 PM What a beautiful elegy, I absolutely love this "which was a drawer or why it was a loose sketcher's habit every morn
to pull open that dorm that a pencil should take flight once more
and streak horizons cross a wall" |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 04/12/13 at 01:08 AM Wonderful, perfect tribute. |
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