Now Who Roars? Now who roars, demanding penance from the sheep? Not this lion, I contest. Not this beast amongst the flock. The violin, the harp, do dwell within my fragile ears that seem as though they will soon shatter like glass figurines of seraphim sent from the depths of Paradise; arms outstretched, longing to embrace, vibrating with the highest note of God. I am fire-smoke in an otherwise sleepy dream, dancing through the night sky and obscuring a silver, cratered moon. They will ask me if I am going on, and will I answer yes? Will I dare a yes? Or will I shrink into the black ocean of time, and become a single fish floating top-sized? And will some Portuguese fisher-boy look out to see a white dot moves toward the fiery sunset?
Posted on: Sun, 20 Jul 2014 19:16:52 +0000
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