Peter Timothy McQueeny

Rookie (May 11,1983 / Kansas City, Kansas)

The Hand Of God, Mathematician

Poem by Peter Timothy McQueeny

As Mars rises in Orion,
the wanderers explore the sky
in their inexorable
spirals and ellipses,
on a journey
of forever falling
towards perihelion.

The cosmos follow his laws
yet he knows it not.

And they
know not his name.

Rather than guiding them in their paths,
with mighty hands,
he makes his time
dwelling inside rectangular prisms.

Stone upon stone stacked to form
his five perfect solids,
that obsess him. In

Death-grey solitude
I charge thee.

a harmony of observation
and the architecture of the gods.

When surrounded
by flickering lights unnumbered.

In thy room
In thy mind
In thy heavens

And let those prosecutors
fear the vast blackness
that consumes your mind.

For they never shall realize
the truth of thy Somnium.

Searing wind
Orb of flame
Speak to this man
God and stars alike
Will his hand to movement

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Read poems about / on: solitude, journey, truth, fear, wind, sky, death, god, time, rose, star

Poem Submitted: Tuesday, October 26, 2004