Another bombastic poem...

Fri Apr 22, 2005

And here it is…

The rainy poets

What fell voices hath rent the darkened firmament,

Tearing asunder the veiled illusion that hides

The horror of infinity from our upturned eyes?

Indeed, it is a foul day with an evil bent

That we seek to smite with our sinful superstition

And ephemeral fairy-lights of our own deft construction

Yet here in the hiding holes, our futures are wrought

As we give sway to heavy dreams of lighter days

With winsome winds less rank and less dismayed.

For whatever unnamed fear on us befalls

By the gossamer tendrils of our spidery scrawls

We diligently carve immortality

with fickle flicks of our youthful wrists.

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