Oh, Chaos came, Chaos comes with a sleep
to yawn at will, abyss behind those sheep
who single-file along their trod on hill
are white rocks tongued by sunset fire, unstill
in looming shadow at the setting brink,
when all that was is swallowed like a drink;
and hushed dusk aftermaths bear leafy dark
and there is neither nightingale nor lark.
We are at sea. Yes. Well, we always were.
Hard carriage wheels over the Dublin cobbles -
even the sparks of the nail-shod hooves
were always written on the green water
as are, rising, the wave-humps and knobbles;
and, falling, the deep stars in their smooth grooves.
YOU ARE READING
Under The Wings
Poetry.Under the Wings of the Egyptian and world-wide respected Goddess, Isis. Poems of Nature, Inner Resonance and Mythology.
