Smoke. Still and plaguing
Seeks singularity with the sweat and light
Of the city before me, obscurring
West. The White Tank Mountains
Stand legible, wavering in the
Heavy Arizona heat. Enclosed, we lie
This Valley of the Sun, spreading between
The smooth and craigy peaks, enclosed
A web of concrete and steel
A spider of creeping ambition
A large and foolish creature, amongst
The saguaro, hawk and desert rattler.
This city stands testament, to our
Perceptions of consumption for survival.
War and peace in invariable reciprocation,
A cycle born of humane desire, as much
As our animal nature; to live.
We cannot simply exist. Materialism
Purges our souls of contentment,
Breeding phantoms of the dead and living.
To the East, as if pushed aside from
The blue sky, remnants of an ocean storm
Repose, holding a timeless course
In quarrell between wind and heat and cold
No thought or will. Simply existence.
The Southwest wind
Veers and tussles through the trees
Random and irrelevant, moving beauty
Branches arch and whip in the subtle
Orange of submersing twilight, while
Shadows approach the crisp,
Collective density of nightfall.
Black, lush and effortless
Inches over the cooling buildings
The failing light is chased to the West
Stars change color through an invisible
Refracting haze and soot, still hanging
Reminding us in dreams of our progress
And repremands. War and technology;
What is the difference?
When one thrives, so strives the other
Hate, malice and power. These base
Desires, intense and unrelenting; uncontrolled
A maelstrom wildfire, of red and drunk
Emotions. "When mankind controlls passion
So will he control history" In theory
Possibility is flexible and kind. In practice
Philosophy is tried and forgotten.
"Familiarity breeds contempt,"
As well as truth. At first light
We will toil, think and theorize again.
Blood will spill in defense of country
Earth will cry for wood and creature
Fathers will bury their sons and,
Sons will bury their fathers
Industry will pedal on, the likeness of
Ourselves. We gods of death and smoke.
The night, this
Obtrusion of black, clear and
Colossal stretches towards
Orion, Draco, Ursa Minor and Major.
Dreamers look to the stars, and
Poets write of them.
The night, this
Thick pestilence of hate and war
And plights of demons and angels.
This black earth, the unlit purgatory
Between Heaven and Hell, where
Poets write still.
At dawn, a massage of warm ambience
Beckons my face from the frigid cool
And windless night. On the horizon lie
Night and day, black and white
Entangled as one passion. These elements
The flesh of Gods and Titans, in love
At war and peace. Simply existence.
The stars lose brilliance to a swell of light
Heat, a wave of conscious. Rayleigh's
Scattering dyes the horizon, orange and
Lusting, bright and pulsing. "If night
Stood vigil for dreams and love
If day stood witness for war and blood
Then we have made them so. When
Shall we shake the discords of our bounds?"
Light and dark are simply mediums
To affairs, stages for both acts
Of righteous and insidious. As I sit
The whispers and cries of 10,000 dreams
Fade in acclivity. Lovers withdraw from
The blanket of night, and day reclaims
His bloody course, with lash,
Steed and golden chariot.
I'll like honest feed I did this during school, and I'll like to know what could've or need improvement.
Originally Posted by Constance
