Emptying Heaven
The sound of thunder emptying the heavenly loom
roaring fields of chaotic crickets stampede in place
singing praise, singing praise to their cold, mad idols,
chirp chirp chirping of thee we sing
in the rotting rafters, in the gutters and the eaves
give us green things to wear and eat today
oh wondrous thunder speak some more miracles we need
more of your words on which to rub our wings,
(inside the thunders hollow chuckle, a vacant pattern)
woven of stolen promises, lies that prey on lazy ignorance
contrives mockery of heavens natural majesty
slyly plotting to orchestrate every wing and everything,
one tends to wonder when there is no one in the room
The sound of thunder envying the heavenly loom .
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 1318 times
Written on 2012-12-07 at 00:53
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