Poem: Steeple

 

Steeple

 

its arteries pulsed with wind,

the ash tree, swelling with riches,

an aorta

 

and a 14yo boy climbed to feel

the shifts of that most

mysterious and accurate

of pendulums as elusive and swayful as 

time was fickle and branched

 

and he could see--

i could see

 

half the cosmos

and most of the valley,

a silver-and-glow golden of broth,

lamps and stars as fulgent and

majestic as angels

 

and why

 

why

 

would someone take so much beauty

and stab it

into a mental shredder because

it didn’t fit their small mind?

 

and why was this the same reason that people were

destroying each other in

war and competition and greed and jealousy and

 

why were they seizing at miracles,

which offered truth and peace and appeal and freedom,

and taking them, all this treasure,

this obvious wonderment,

and sacrificing it to such insatiable monsters in

the center of webs of grand inter-destructive

lies?

 

 

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