Chronos

Upon the occasion of the funeral of an old man from the Neighborhood

 

Preambulum:

 

New widow’s tears

And the child’s fears –

Bow low, the shell of a man now passes.

Without these walls the world proceeds unaware

The same fate in time

Shall befall all her endless teaming masses –

Hurry, speak the sacred words

And commit to city soil this flesh and bone;

As it was in the beginning, as now –

Amen, for surely we die alone.

 

Blasphemous Musing:

 

Aye, e’re vigilant he stands

His watch with unceasing, unyielding eye –

Of all they who through him passing but once

And irrevocably for the span of his eternal reach gone,

As the stone hurled into the froth of the sea,

E’re possessing, ne’er possessed --

For he giveth, sustaineth, and wherein

All the was and the is, and all the ever shall be –

Here and whate’re is beyond

The dome of the farthest sky.

 

What that causeth of field and flower,

Swain and tender maiden

To garner the first blushing bloom,

Though with all apprehension of verdure is laden

Is just the same the fountainhead of gath’ring gloom

 

Verily without his madly fleeing crawl

The minstrel’s pipes would forever

To moribund silence fall.

Tis his twisted, bended dance

With his wanton tactile strumpets three

That doth inspire less than a grain of sand

To swell, towering into a tree –

His delicate caress maketh fledglings

For the first to invade the air

With the beatings of misshapen, truncate, virginal wings –

As the twinkling of his eyes

Maketh monuments of nations

And ashes out of kings –

 

Wise men do thee acclaim

The final giver of peace,

And aye this troubadour casts down his eyes

When he doth mutteringly acquiesce

That all passion is of thee born

And passions with thee must conspire

To grant passion’s flames their inevitable release.

Chronos I feel thee ‘round me

Where e’re I doth wander I feel thee loom –

Chronos of thee let me query

Answer before to me thou bequeathest doom –

Oh Chronos, why did thou grantest life

No matter how long it may in thee dwellest,

To still be enumerated too brief –

Oh Chronos hear me now, I damn thee,

For thou art a thief.

 

aml

2001

Whitestone