“wind, and fire”

“upon this blasted heath”

The wind goes spying through the oak trees.  What

It looks for is not known, but surely not

A secret hiding place, a nissen hut

For raising weed, and surely not a thought

I lost one twilight long ago.  Then you

Were long, long gone.  It went so long ago

That it is like cremated hair when you

Were burned — since God became that fire and glow

You worshiped but, now, waits like Ba’al.  God waits

With patience, calm immortal, not like me.

The God you worshiped chooses unknown fates

For thoughts, and you, rubbed out by His decree.

  You had this fuzz-like notion underneath

    The scriptures blasted on your mystic heath.

~ Phillip Whidden

by phillipw | Aug 16, 2024 | CH, ST | 0 comments