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Of the Sun

(one of my favorite older poems)


Brutal, this is
creating beauty
wounds to golden silence,
grave adventure
& unheard death:

a voice cut short
by shrinking day.

Engulfed in lunar moan,
sky-gaped lines
howl the quiet of the glow

insufferable,
remarkable:
a soul that charges
for a stone
or standstill.

Lungs that bloat
through plough & smoke
or lifting rocks
with stomach knots.

Beauty, this is
the scar & the song
of phoenix'd rising,
the light & the climb
of scarlet wind

reborn...

the night is ash
& growing day.

Written by ButcherScraps
Published
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