Drifting Sands
I
He sits upon his thrown
Free of metaphor and myth
Ruling all he sees with
A fist made of feathers
Or some other soft substance
II
I have seen a familiar man,
Growing old in many mirrors.
Many faces belonging to one
With so many stories to tell,
But none come to mind
III
Bare witness to all things
Both average and mundane,
The weight of the dew upon
Morning grass, morning’s rise
From beautiful pits of darkness.
IV
This sad and lonely Adam
Cast forth, alone and aged,
Aware only of mortality in the sense
That flowers bloom brightly
Toward the sun before drying out.
V
Two fates merge paths from
Time to time, myself and the world.
Sometimes I envy you, others not.
Impassive and endless in consistent
Rotation, axis in motion.
VI
Through the blackened gardens
Of exile of the heart he wanders
Head bowed from pride and place
There is no place for rest,
To walk the earth forever, bearing the mark.
VII
[...] Read more
poem by Jeffrey McCambridge
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
