2.24.2012

The Poet's Dream, VIII

it is addressed thusly:
A fragment.
it reads:
"Then he, that old totem nose
Whose habitat was for the birds
Told me tale of many woes
Which also sadly was of many words

In shorter form I will recall
The symbols which he wrote for me
In that telling, once and for all
See the end to what will be:

A mirror which describes the heart
A cup discerned by wisdom's art
A pale sword which broke in two
A winter cat on hunt for you
A city where faith turns to dust
A library overcome with must
A jar of souls and minds to switch
A fair rose wilted black as pitch
A child who seeks but cannot find
A coin whose carrying did bind
A flower which sees only itself
The soulless blue-fire of an elf
A wordless edge to hem the will
A giant's rock upon a hill."

And woke our poet from reverie
Just in time the sunset to see
And remark the blots upon the page
Which seemed writing of another age
And find his menial tasks undone
Which then under the proverbial gun
He had to then with haste engage
And the war with memory later engage.

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