The night ends on the smell of corn stalks by starlight
A pollinade scent fertile in the humid air
The custom of thought in empty space
Is window upon time and reason and time.
I chose this path to make complacency impossible
Conspiring against the future of least resistance.
The poison of pragmatism and currency, well monied lies
Bids my attention from mouths on first names with fear.
But the huckster’s traveling canvas can only sell which it has
Stories and potions, unrest to no purpose.
A doer begins or remains undone.
A soul must find peace where a body finds bread.
Home or not, the soul is stationary
And turmoil will not cease for wishing.
Creation in summer, earth is home
A journey to the inner distance.
To get the thing you must plant the seed.
© 2011 Yorgo Douramacos
1 comment:
Remember the stars.
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