latent
the persistence of dawn
smeared behind us
like a thin wash upon a wall
like the dust blast of the meteorite crash
we are awaiting
spies through the jewel eyed creatures of the night
have told us of their coming
a flotilla as large as any amassed before
a jugernaut trapped by the winds as yet
but a giant that will force its gargatuan chest
against that mere wimple breeze
we too know anxious and foreboding
that our kin defy the natural laws of man
and this is their monstrous demonic trial
will we live or die hand in hand in kinship
will water run this path or that
with blood mingled in its traces
will we use our wood for warmth
or will the roots of trees propel our short existence down down down
to cold catastrophe
diffuse a wash run through the coloured soil
we know so little of the future or its impending
paradises or its hanging gardens its follies
its pits and fool-traps its dark caverns empty with only the silence of souls
ghost shape rising through the million corpses of the day
still dancing serpent slowly writhing in its first latent heat
for they will come with their many patchwork sails
and their bowsprits carved in fortunes superstition
and the pride of far off lands will land
and thence the trial begins
ghost shape rising over the million corpses of the day
as the last of the sun dips into the sea
its green blaze anealed body diving down to shock
the netherworld to vigour and suck down with it
our memories of physicality when once we had strong limbs
and command our presence join it in the world of ghouls
and hapless purpose but to leer at our descendant follies
like misfortune in its callous crown
laughing wryly or tut-tuting with that knowing hangdog bow
much as the ancients do