The Storm and I

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The Storm and I

Poem

A piddling storm came ambling by
Bearing desire and fear with a sigh,
“Take kindly Sirs, these offerings cheap
Casting mere attention thou canst keep

These cherished darlings to sow
And reap sorrow and many a woe.
Richly fertile these can imagine
A pestilence a second and begin

A pandemic wide in a minute.
Take Sirs for a light is on Inconscient,
The abyss familiar we must save,
For too much light we can’t have!”

I paused my stride, a gaze didst cast
To survey the wares before me kept,
“Ah, this produce I once did use
But thy generosity I must refuse.

My breast is emptied of human soil,
Mind grown alien to thought’s toil,
Am no more tethered to earth’s root,
Or seek the savour of thy dull fruit.

Am fed by kine that graze the sun-fields
By pastures of light and valleys of bliss,
Their luminous milk in all hours I sup,
By prayerful lips pressed to a divine cup.

Flee O trafficker with thy deviant twin,
Peddle these no more to my person.
I am more than the frame and a name,
Being domiciled from the Immortal Flame.”