Sunday, April 18, 2010

A Brief Repose

The setting sun a contrast
To the spring of our lives
Final stop of our day

Approach the base of the temple
Take off your shoes the children are watching
Start circling, stalking your prey

First flight of stairs
and my cold feet are browned
a smiling priest excuses us
I had a fear of heights

Second flight of stairs
The incense are burning like
The breath of great Achilles
A funeral pyre of cowardice and foolishness
Clouding the sky
Emanates from the center

Third flight of stairs
Out of breath but how many
A six armed shiva in this lonely place

Arrive at the top
Wind between our hair
The pinnacle of an empty lighthouse
First time in the center, there is less
At the peak than at the bottom

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