The Orb
Of the orb I speak in awe
Of the Moon with its slender claw
Finite in size, elysian in presence, there to watch
Crop the doubt, step up a notch
As is he - facile princeps - a sublunary prince,
Devout and intense ever since
The days of deportation from Attica of North
In the downtown Abaddon he came forth
To denounce neither world in order to live
Only in you could he ever believe.
Yet the stigmata pierced the skin
Grafted the soul infinitely thin
Battles abated but the burden rose
From the nadir of the pith to foreclose
Every chamber of every pore
And then, disappeared into nevermore.
In the dreams I see time and again
A stoic oak tree turned into a cane
An untamed ocean of tenacious fire
Almost silent voices of desire
Composed while whispering into his ear
Go back to Attica of North
Reset in Abaddon where he came forth.
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