The Golden Spiral by Dekklun Cuinn
Our words are full of lies, we poets, we wordsmiths,
We cunning linguists. We prosper little,
But hold hope in history, remembering names like lovers:
The flamboyant philanderer, the Bohemian vagabond,
The honored Laureate.
We prosper little and shake our fists at the stars
As if the elements held interest in our art,
As if time could vindicate our efforts,
As if an opened vein could bleed us back to life.
Only the stars know the pure poetry we deny.
Only the stars and the rotating wheel we turn on.
Only the stars and the mathematical moons and flowers.
The world we know is outside the realm of reality.
We embrace our suffering and sing our misery to the sky
While a greater music overtakes our song
And is heard by the throngs and the angels.
We cunning linguists. We prosper little,
But hold hope in history, remembering names like lovers:
The flamboyant philanderer, the Bohemian vagabond,
The honored Laureate.
We prosper little and shake our fists at the stars
As if the elements held interest in our art,
As if time could vindicate our efforts,
As if an opened vein could bleed us back to life.
Only the stars know the pure poetry we deny.
Only the stars and the rotating wheel we turn on.
Only the stars and the mathematical moons and flowers.
The world we know is outside the realm of reality.
We embrace our suffering and sing our misery to the sky
While a greater music overtakes our song
And is heard by the throngs and the angels.
Dekklun Cuinn © 2011
