'Sea of White Above Me' by Eli T. Mond

Mikalojus Konstantinas Ciurlionis - LIGHTNING - 1909

Sea of White Above Me

There is a storm above my bed.

Cumulonimbus towers bursting

From my head like temples

To spirits of a pagan persuasion;

Full of bubbling silhouettes,

Nebulous in their frames,

But certain of the power in their names.

They strike from on Abysmal High

And lightning carves a thousand scars

Into my viscid skin.

Scars that twist and turn to eyes

And peer with the lust of hunting raptors—

Demons of the Earth, now taken to the sky.

To Hope by John Keats

When by my solitary hearth I sit,
And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom;
When no fair dreams before my "mind's eye" flit,
And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;
Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head!

Whene'er I wander, at the fall of night,
Where woven boughs shut out the moon's bright ray,
Should sad Despondency my musings fright,
And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away,
Peep with the moonbeams through the leafy roof,
And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof!

Should Disappointment, parent of Despair,
Strive for her son to seize my careless heart;
When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air,
Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart:
Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright,
And fright him as the morning frightens night!

Whene'er the fate of those I hold most dear
Tells to my fearful breast a tale of sorrow,
O bright-eyed Hope, my morbidfancy cheer;
Let me awhile thy sweetest comforts borrow:
Thy heaven-born radiance around me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head!

Should e'er unhappy love my bosom pain,
From cruel parents, or relentless fair;
O let me think it is not quite in vain
To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air!
Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head!

In the long vista of the years to roll,
Let me not see our country's honour fade:
O let me see our land retain her soul,
Her pride, her freedom; and not freedom's shade.
From thy bright eyes unusual brightness shed---
Beneath thy pinions canopy my head!

Let me not see the patriot's high bequest,
Great Liberty! how great in plain attire!
With the base purple of a court oppress'd,
Bowing her head, and ready to expire:
But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings
That fill the skies with silver glitterings!

And as, in sparkling majesty, a star
Gilds the bright summit of some gloomy cloud;
Brightening the half veil'd face of heaven afar:
So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud,
Sweet Hope, celestial influence round me shed,
Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head! 

- John Keats, 1815.

Intrinsic

How the voice bends—
were we not born
to love & die
easily as a desert
opens palms,
the contour of sorrow
faded into peaks
of cheek bone & empty
bus stops of the mind

ribbed moonlight etching
alley ways across these hours

(a candle crawling the wall
or vestige of benediction,
a trembling synapse
tying together
midnight winds)