The Quiet Sun
We trace your violence with methodic unease, charting chaotic ferocities as measured outbursts; a humanised hoax to retain control. As your temper subsides we
"this is sixth form poetry, not Keats or Yeats"
We trace your violence with methodic unease, charting chaotic ferocities as measured outbursts; a humanised hoax to retain control. As your temper subsides we
Secluded worlds hide secrets from our cold, prying eyes, suffocating starlight in the heat of their embrace. Lost beneath the contrails of a smoggy
Peeling back the blackened veins of ancient crust, forgotten fragments whisper soggy secrets. Their enforced exile loosening tongues that now bubble over with stories of
In the irascible search for life the faint twinkling of distant stars expose giant globes of gaseous ferocity; their inferred magnitude drifting too close to
Giant clams lie settled atop distant mountain peaks; their arid husks supressing the brackish smell of ancient waves that once bathed them in their shallow,
Across dank, shaded habitats of cosmic intent specks of light flicker into life. Emerging from chaos, filaments of matter weave their nets; unclassifiable structures that
Floating between distant horizons, you dance upon a fraying thread; turning somersaults as butterflies threaten to break free from the fragile anchor beneath your flailing
Beneath pristine packs of southern snow Echoes of a violent past lay scattered; Lost amongst the landscape like fragments Of half-remembered, ancient dreams, These imprints
A dynasty of diamonds in the sky, You stretch beyond the hemispheres of sight Scattering stardust like lavish silt as Unseen tidal forces conspire to
Perched on the edge of perception – Six concentric rings of water, ice, And dust rotate. To the untrained eye you appear Frozen in time.