Robert Rorabeck

Bronze Star - 2,195 Points (04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

To The Flame Of Its Muse - Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Tombs of rattlesnakes shaking rainstorms
In protest and jasmine after the tanks are all closed,
And even the cars have
All stopped their driving:
And then there is just the pale, pale monoliths
Softly repeating,
Going up and up over the sororities, like escalators:
Like elevators,
Like ladders into the bereavement of whatever heavens
That I am sure they are:
And they end in lighthouses,
And commercial airliners- or they end in little rooms
Far, far above this stuff:
Through the strata of pornographies and conquistadors,
And Labor Days and home room classes:
Through the shed papers of firecrackers newly bloomed,
And the trailer parks:
And the fruit markets: they end in a peaceful grotto
All to themselves
Where a single candle burns to the flame of its muse.


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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Poem Edited: Thursday, May 19, 2011


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