August’s Ember- S.B.

I cannot see past August’s ember
Or guess the fallen leaves ahead
Nor feel the cold of dark December
Or smell the naked flower bed.
Lead lulls the veins and bleeds and runs
Along the aches of unanswered rest
Drowning the colour of a thousand suns
And dampens the beating in the chest.
Day and night I’ve worked my craft
Shaking languor off the arms,
Drinking deep of intense draughts
That rouse a moment’s fleeting calm.
Long through the glade and open fields
I embraced each dare and escaping dream;
Drinking the sweetness of its yield:
Made a soft hue in the cooling stream.
Someone said the stuff of life
Lies behind these jars of strife;
Behind the vinegar and the gall
Exists the fruit that does not fall.
Yet, August approaches to whip my desires
And I cannot see past its ravenous fire.

The Cartographer

Canst thou near fathom the fret,
The dimensions of the deep?
-As the Great Cartographer set
his map while you were still asleep.
Canst thou fathom the wisdom?
The fire in his eyes-
As he seized the cosmos
And lit the starry skies?
He simply struck his palms.
And spun the web of time,
Clasped the elemental charms
and crafted yours and mine.

Awoken, now we ponder
Doubt his works to see.
Still we gape and wonder
On how they came to be.

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