Friday, June 17, 2011

Early Morning in a Parisian Sky

Ah, so this is how it is, to be God?

Surrender my eyes down on to the clouds,
their brilliant heads, birthright of the Angels.
Being chased infinitely by waters
who jealously reflect the truth of my
skies, who jealously upskirt my cloud's sex.

"Give us rain!" they cry. "Descend to our form!"
"Fill us up, then we will Love you!" they lie,
swelling the more with each honey-dropped kiss.
Consuming the lover of my dear Sky.

Swallow the Earth. Give Nothing Back. The Sun
will play the thief, restore what I create.
You will feel his heat blister your surface.
You will curse me and wish you had the hands
to reach up, feel the cloud's thick-heated thigh
that the sun warmed with his glorious rays.

You forget, I see all the wrong that you do.

Yet though stars & moon brush against my face
from this great bird's eye, I can't help wonder
what it is you see from your point of view.

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