Monuments of distraction,
portals from hell
The gates, the temptation,
where the misguided dwell
Three dimensions, the material,
where emptiness hides
The lions all roaring
from cages inside
The pathways worn smooth,
the comfort is there
The direction indifferent,
when worn with a flair
The roads have all ended,
turned in on themselves
And darkness locks tightly,
all souls on the shelf
The shadows of lateness,
behind monuments fall
Where seeds never sewn,
grow heavy and tall
In an orchard of indulgence
the trophies are stained
The fruit of the promise
rots endorsed in your name
The music is dimming,
there's darkness ahead
Those memories that haunt us,
escort us to bed
Where the covers are pulled back,
and the curtains are tied
All change now beyond us
. . . in mourning we lie
(Shiprock New Mexico: May, 1996)
Lest We Forget
The rock,
stands against the wind
in centuries old calm
Counting the years until
our baptism,
sinking deeper still
Stoic to tell
lest we forget, engraved
on a hill of blinding sun
Of barefoot
painted dancers,
and children—future come
(Mesa Verde Colorado: October, 1976)
A Hurt So Good
Writing
pains my hand
—as it eases my heart
(Strafford Pennsylvania: November, 1976)
-
Author:
Kurt Philip Behm (
Offline) - Published: May 7th, 2020 11:38
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: Lauraš»
Offline)
Comments2
Kurt,
Wow...
Read this with a heavy heart.
An extraordinary piece!
Laura
Thanks. My Ode to the Navajo, Zuni, and Hopi that live in the Southwest.
Shiprock is their St Peterās Basilica. Itās about all they have left till we figure out how to take that away from them too.
The background info is
very much appreciated.
Thank you for sharing!
Stay safe & Be well
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