Keep close, deep child,
this will not be quick.

We will be changed,
as all are,
through misty age
by a thirst of whispers.
They will scratch promises
of comfort and riches
from an ethereal throat,
but you will listen to me.

We will sprout and limb
in creeping lumps of eyes
bound to distant sight
haunting all colors dreamed,
but you will watch my feet,
and think of blue.

We will slink over the dust
and porous bones of our forebears
stuck to the ruinous mountains,
but I will tell you their names,
and you will promise them
you cannot stay long.

We will break the clouds,
and your voice will rasp
in the brunt of the sun
as you call for me,
and there I will burn away,

and you will fear
the stare of the moon,
as we all do,
but you will sing
as guide to those who would follow
the fibbing stars,

and you will see the way change
before you, kept from the twisting rot,
and the grasping dead,
and you may then be rich
as I was,
to find a child inside you,
hiding deep.

10/29/2018

Posted on 10/29/2018
Copyright © 2024 Matthew Zangen