Monday, 25 April 2011

The Face Remained The Same

The Face Remained the Same

Thrust upon his throne,
he read his letter,
and turned the words, one with another,
in her mind:
He wept, forlorn.
The tap water hissed,
a snake in his miasmatic mist:
solemnity turned it out,
and it left the bitter sacrarium of his mind,
His very own pernicious inner blind.
With each brief tear,
a year.
He was alone.
A charted wilderness of boundless boundaries:
Driven, he would wander,
until at razors edge,
life would reveal a death.
We toss our own coin, an epoch or an epitaph,
heartily he would laugh;
The bastion, his spirited whole,
the only true soul.
For laughter offers all a gate,
to meliorate, this ambivalent
and capricious fallacy, we honor as reality.
Heartily he laughed,
a Brahmans smile.
Yet his face remained the same.

© Richard Michael Parker 1987

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