Byzantium sky
original poetryI am the byzantium sky,
A watchful crow with bead-eyes,
Ensuring the survival of my progeny
Through my shadow, the ne'er-sleeping
Sentinel stretched between worlds.
From my noble heights
I grin affection towards
My children, born through my
Omnicolored womb into a second womb:
They grow in my belly of frost and fire;
They tend the tree trunks of the palace.
Their service is inscribed into their clock hearts,
Which through the pangs of years become deranged:
Unfamiliar in their sight, acquires erratic ticking
That seems to subtly scrape the loam of life away.
I have set their moss-gear spirits thus,
That they would reconcile the formulae with a
Wand of yew, a speck of ash, and a silver dove.
That they would fly on another's wing and dissolve
Into the centre of gaia, become devoured by locusts,
And burst a skeleton of wyrms from the shimmering carcass,
Fire-flung into the frozen atmosphere to reassamble,
Beast electrocuted by its own majesty.
For them I soar, a feathered witness,
Cavorting through these gradations of hue,
Pouring cinnabar and chicory through amethyst tubes
To ignite the dark sky and to welcome their truths.
@d-pend