The Servant of Myr.
I look down at the words all written and inked...
...looked around meditating, this one should sink.
I am in desperate need of a big stick to clamor...
...for this fold in time pounds down like a hammer.
Myr spoke of a light radiating from others...
...then hid it away inside the lake of Mothers.
The shadows refrain from touching the score...
...still others move in and out of this open door.
Shedding and scratching they move out of the way...
...for daylight comes to wash them all away.
***
The East rivers flow endlessly out to the sea...
...this light reflects off all this beauty It sees.
May eternity put bondage to the loosened tongue...
...numbered and wanting, it was found undone.
In straits and streams and over the hills...
...a deserver of prudence has just been fulfilled.
In expanse and form, into body and soul...
...reach out towards the chosen, or loose control.
***
I stretch out of mind to places beyond...
...I swim in the waters of this rippling pond.
The field is lush and moves with the breeze...
...I'm watching the rain and hearing its plea's.
Number-er of days you know our iniquities...
...the saints have all spoken and I ask for their mercy.
The habits I ensue have brought me to extreme...
...but this has all been forbidden and has been seen.
A servant to be, I must watch and partake...
...in the coming attraction down by the lake.
The number is growing of them that will be...
...the number is set for those that can see.
***
Above and below, all across the firmament...
...the hammered and dashed, away they are sent.
Pro-claimer of words, uttered aloud...
...draw in the light to your inner shroud.
Again I reach forth from out of my mind...
...I hear storms rolling, brooding and unkind.
Take solace in thinking ignorance is bliss...
...while the servant of Myr makes one final wish.
Innocence uncovered within ones own dreams...
...may be masked and sheltered down by the stream.
Reach back to yourself and draw yourself in...
...for this is the beginning and not its end.
A.o.R.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry in Narrative.
PoetryA small collection of story type poetry. Each one telling a different tale.
