Wednesday, November 9, 2011

35. So sang the silence

Photograph By: Christian Hanner

Arrested in the sun –
as photons stripe your wings:
could death be lovelier?
Unseeing eyes ablaze,
as if too undeserved
of such a masterwork.
Upon a tender branch,
the paragon of dawn:
did one such mulberry
obstruct your jeweled throat
upon the blinding sight
of lethal loveliness?;
so as you gasped, it struck –
so swiftly, fatally?
In serving such an art,
an art oneself becomes –
in still serenity
entombed in oxygen:
the sentinel of Truth
remains forever mute –

1 comment:

  1. I woke up one summer morning and upon going outside to the sunlit porch, a robin lay there - dead, but unharmed and beautiful. I have never been able to comprehend how it died or how it got there - but the image haunts me forever.


One Art, to recognize, must be,
Another Art to Praise.

- Emily Dickinson