St. Simeon


Fire on the horizon. From the top
of my old pillar I can see and smell
approaching unconcern: the lapping tongues,

as horses' hooves strike sparks out of the flint,
come ever nearer, while the olive groves
that long lay smouldering, burst into flame

against the grey of evening. Our age
has lost coherence slowly; now the years
roll by, unruly, and the days are tossed

like off-hand pebbles in a stream. The roar
of fire and water's in our ears; time's course,
time's constant change, comes tumbling past. It will

be years before the ground beneath me grows
cool grass again - before we may unwind
and clear the rubble time has left behind.

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bydemure101© 5 comments/ 1789 views/ 0 favorites

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