Fabrications <br />On a theme <br />And its variants <br /> <br />Thoroughbred horses <br />Driving fire <br />And chariots <br /> <br />The crystal, glassy showers fall like knives amid a garden of imaginary flowers <br />Falling clear <br />Falling upon green <br />A quartz quarry broken into, revelation on a small scale of what depth is like <br />The marble pit flooded, the long leap downward, is a memory borrowed and an image enjoyed <br />Falling so far <br /> <br />A sphingine mirage roars in the middle of the desert, cornered with change <br />As the fire of the sun burns by day and melts the candlesticks by night <br />Bring on the chimes, the bells, and the sleeping spells; let them ring! <br />If the sky could be no more silver, let it all be painted gray <br /> <br />Black skies <br />With silver clouds <br />Would be <br />So beautiful <br /> <br />Compare the wind to cats with nine tails <br />Of comfort rather than torture, like that bony tail <br />Rubbing into one’s eyes, forcing them shut <br />Like an icy wind freezing the face, lulling it to sleep <br />Admittedly, the wind will top a cat any day of the week <br />We can’t call a cat what it is and the wind what it is not <br /> <br />How the weeks pour so quickly in long days <br />And too many hours, and multitudes of tasks at hand <br />And stretches of lost sleep, and humble weeping, <br />Warping of time, lost minutes in reading and writing, <br />Stifling boredom, away in catacombs… <br />And to note the swift passing of slow days <br />Is all the more intriguing.<br /><br />Hunter Hansen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/call-it-black-but-let-it-be-true/
