Listen to My Divine Reflection by Richard Charles Stevens (Broken Suite)
Listen to Broken by ORAX
Atop the jutted crag,—I sat
To oversee the suffered land
My hands were cracked like frigid ice
Rigid pines beneath me packed
So tightly I could scarcely see
The air between declared to breathe
Within them thick mists bared their teeth
Blew a kiss and glared at me
.
Perched high upon the precipice
Permissed each whisper sparingly
Daring me to leap from summit
Plummet down despairingly
Incredulous—such treachery necessitous to breed
Under veil of exodus—of tenuous beliefs
.
I glanced both far and wide—relied on yarn dyed from the forehand side
To where the coarse sand snatched the tides
In offhand bid to match their rise
My line of sight—no short hand sized
In cursive blur—deferred no prize
For blind faith fashioned enterprise
Bid hind sight to the fays
.
The ventured skies—my wide eyes glazed
Tween slender spires—In kind appraised
Brisk the frisk of tidal waves
Listless were their spiteful claims
Nowise kissed affright—for no blight slighted my behave
Through light and shade in braid of twine
Precisely—I became
.
My divine reflection
My divine reflection
My divine reflection
(Reflection)
(Reflection)
(Reflection)
(Reflection)
Reflection
.
To the mystic river famed
I swooped through loophole of disdain
Flew to husk of the terrain
Embraced the musk of earth reclaimed
My trusted eyes—retouched the plains
Teardrops gushed from ruptured veins
With upward gaze of daisy chains
To no grave slight inclined
Revivified—this terra firma firmed beneath my greaves
Once more adored the veins of leaves
Relieved each spore of ancient bind
.
(My divine reflection)
Relieved each spore of ancient bind
.
Atop the jutted crag—I sat
To praise the lay of fragrant land
My open palms—no grope of psalm conveyed
Through wild tirade—had claimed my place
Of forward faced intention
Delighting brave of my divine reflection
.
My divine reflection
My divine reflection
My divine reflection
(Reflection)
(Reflection)
(Reflection)
(Reflection)
Reflection
.
Atop the jutted crag—I sat
To praise the lay of fragrant land
My open palms—no grope of psalm conveyed
Through wild tirade—had claimed my place
Of forward faced intention
Delighting brave of my divine reflection
.
Richard Charles Stevens
Keeper of The Crimson Quill
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