"His
quiet nature was blown about enough for silence."
~
Meanwhile,
in the Outback of Beyond:
Slowly
salvaging the daylight hours
as the
night acquires October
you
battle this unexpected censure
struggle
to come once more out of the anyhow
throwing
punches at the wind.
With no
recent measure of a quiet cautionary tale
you begin
to worry the bones and throw the teeth.
Perhaps
you didn't notice this when you first stepped in.
Maybe you
thought, it will surely come back
for all
the silent reasons after only a quiet and hallowed time.
Maybe,
you didn't want to know
didn't
care to see across the deep of idleness
where
sorrows resolve in the wide eternity
of the
present on your hands.
But bleak
hearts and devious fools of idleness
can
become soldiers of the dark
bolder
and bleaker
tendering
no information
taking no
messages.
It is not
for want of banging your head
against
the windy and the ragged after all.
Not for
want of leering and looming
buffeted
by the beyond.
But
slowly, slowly, without your knowing
idleness
savages the daylight hours
as the
Prince of Night gathers October.
In the
end finally, you must always remember
there is
the Bean-Sìdhe
after all.
Graced
and serene, pale and contrasting in the night
her eyes
red from centuries of crying
and
wringing her hands, mourning at your idleness.
She was
ever washing your poetry bones, stroking them lovingly
cleansing
their limbs 'till they were shriven.
Then,
nightly she paced the hills of your dreams and sorrows with unearthly care
Weeping,
wailing, clasping her hands, and beating her breasts.
Piercing
the night, her notes rise and fall with the years
begging
you to resolve your writers block!
begging
you to come back to the anyhow once more
to the
wide eternity of the present on your hands
before
your bleak heart becomes a soldier
a soldier
to the Dark of October.
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