Beneath Old Roads And Pavement Paths - Poem by Sean Godley
According to late morning light, when starred,
There breathes dead form; red form to gel us all,
Make white-true blood to kin of strangers known,
As past ash-future lives odd heaven’s place:
Two thoughts weigh moves with groaning twist and gurn
As still, beneath old roads and pavement paths,
There churns some bearing cauldron that compounds
Of man through beast, with yellow, storming sways,
In all that barely lived, and spews her stew,
And so fresh leaves, by gene trees, break with time,
Recorded in long mourning flight, but marred
So that we need not mourn, to truly fall
Upon that final sight, thus once they’ve flown,
Although they’re none in body, burned to lace
In earth, by worms and moths, make rust each urn
Unless, at speckled glass of valley’s baths,
False love, and too true war, with losing bounds,
Have striven twice to make their twisting ways,
Then spring, and each volcanic wrath, kills new.
Enraged, we’ll crave the ceaseless stench of lime.
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