The Light is On

Thoughts, Stories, The Poem

The Coming of Strange Beasts

Feed my soul the pieces of a shattered sky

The sweetwater stars like funeral wine

paint visions of ruin across the empty night

until the bottle runs dry

All the lights of sacred places come crawling

a slow exaltation in the coming of strange beasts

out of the earth and sky and lost beneath the sea

reaching out to touch a fragile thing

The last star burning in a dessicated world

thirsts for the cold weather rain

Rivers of life have gone out into the hidden places

to wait for a sign of the final leaving

and maybe they’ll wait forever

while the dunes grow tall and desolate

and the world’s new masters gorge themselves on memory

—

Strange times call for strange actions.

—

Image by Patricia Alexandre from Pixabay

Mitchel David Ring

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