Anticipation

If we knew no frustration,

tied to decay in farce of autonomy

a universal word of condemnation

apple falling, stars collapsing

in on themselves

more than Newton knew

heart retracting, stony, cold

on downward course whose light is but the spark of friction;

If tongues joined in with burning orbs in chorus:

but our base noise has toned us deaf to tune,

we hide our eyes beneath blanket orange glow

shaded by our own reflection

and blind, pass buck to Orion's piercing beams.

So aberration, blot in soundscape

Man, of all things made like Word

stand vertically

silent;

If we stuck no fingers

in our ears, at Death

- children, pretending

that what they hide their eyes from, isn't there,

if could un-man ourselves, mere brutes

kill Psyche

in a fit of suicide

- homo sapiens (self-adjudged) - thus sine science

deny our soul's here now

that god may die hereafter: with effect;

Then it were no news

that God died there and then

that homo ruined edifice dei, might live again.

Then no good that stone forced back

spilt tuning power to stone in ground and sky and heart to sing.

Then no good news that first fruit risen

ascended, radiant breathing new dynamic

before whom all must fall.

Lest you burn, hide in the Sun.

- RG

Le lever du soleil

Francis Méan © 2006