Platinum Sun Poem by Patrick Boyd

Here,
the platinum sun liquefies will,
presses down an indifferent sky
on everything I attempt to dream into being;
idea to action sullied
and broken like a pathological synapse.
Where is the path
that stays verdant;
the river that swells
in silver sinews onto the sea?
Walk ahead of me, won't you?
And when the Moon's
bright melody stills the earth
with early midnight bones,
send up a flare.
Let me be the one to say:
"There a soul of fire flies;
a false vesper,
dwarfed against an emperor,
dances once
and dies."