Sunday, September 4, 2016

POEM: "A Hundred Feet"

A Hundred Feet

Nothing there that wasn’t before
a horse head in a drum of fire
smoke floating on bone and fat

A hundred feet above the grotto
a hundred chances to get higher
I walk to the summit to be thrilled

(It wants me killed a hundred times)
I spy a piece of honeyed glass
I take it and dive into the green

Below love clear deep water
those old white walls so shining
a hundred people sit in the theatron

The chorus wears a mask
and they all look up to the surface
waiting to be thrilled

Beauty says it isn’t love
the sun sets in another sky
love says splash doesn’t matter

© 2016 Rob Schackne

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