All The Broken Sunrises _ by me #6 (of a series)
My father’s mansion
had been built at the base of a hill.
Today I was at the summit
after dining on medication,
tackling the sheer size of earth
by the scrutiny of an eagle.
Beside me stood the doctor,
holding me in place
for I perched myself at the lip of a cliff,
and my condition
was notorious for a lack of balance.
I said, “What be the horizon?”
-Where heaven clashes with ground.
What find you of this battlefield?
-It is the edge
the farthest an eye can grasp.
To perceive ahead is to own Beyond:
to envision one’s plan as definite.
-What be Beyond?
-It is a sight inexistential
where future is inexistent.
The question was of the leaves of my mind,
a book the doctor skimmed.
“Do you see Beyond?” posed he.
-Nay. There is no Beyond for me.
The author drops bloodied to a knife in his spine.
The pen clatters from grip
and Death brandishes his body.
The story is no more.
It was past midnight
when this came clear to him.
The sun drew anchor
and rose from the ocean.
There was a flash as dawn broke.
“When does dawn break?”
I questioned weakly.
“How is majesty so brittle?”
-You hurt from supper
but you aren’t attested.
-I wish an answer.
-You wish meaning,
the one particle the universe
-I wish your answer
and that a vacuum has.
-But void is not devoid of greed.
-Though man breathes air
he does not guard it.
-You wish an answer?
-I wish an answer. Doctor, I need one.
He drew his mouth to a close
then opened it most scholarly.
“One breaks when incapable of mend.
To grow so majestic
is to break a little forth within.
That is my answer.
Squall! the question is met.”
-I thank you. You needn’t try but you do.
I am to die, doctor, my body fails me.
There isn’t hope for a broken dam,
the city of pearls shall flood.
-You are the plaintive stone from gut?
-I am his cries,
the one fictitious aspect without an elaborated end.
I brought the night for she heard ache.
All I am is ache.
She heard me but saw death.
We started down the hill
and soon penetrated the mansion.
“Hold on yet, child;
the rope isn’t fully frayed.”
-But far is the gate
and my head it is broken.
-Must you hurt so?
-If you knew pain, I’d be that fact.
So I must, if I wish –
though I don’t –
to light on.
-Sleep, child, sleep.
-But the day is of sun.
-But your bed is of hay.
-Will you keep watch?
-Forever till naught.
I fell to slumber
uttering the last quote of sunup.
“Why is it so cold?
Men, I am weary.”
@AlbeitDying Good show sir Speechless
@Harely-Quinn it's narrative poetry, harleen. Follow the tags to read from the beginning of you care to.
@AlbeitDying What's this supposed to be?
@AlbeitDying No I don't care to