POETRY
Posted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 3:17 am
Gold, by Charles Carreon
Looking now through the window of a womb
At hands that have touched everything
in the universe --
Now clenched in embryonic fists --
The world's been turned to gold
Impacted, imploded, blasted inward,
Melted, smelted, and refined
"I dwelt among the rivers of your mind."
I have been walking in the empty hills
Down under the mountains
Through caverns of blackness
That echo with untrodden tunnels,
Searching for the El Dorado of the blind.
Now, look, where cold invisible herons
Come to spread their wings
In a sky rippled with clouds,
And ancient men in ancient clothes
Take shelter in the grottoes of the wind.
"The mountains are of gold;
The world is a jewel,
A spider in a precious web."
Unafraid, he said, I walk through
the golden abyss, the fathomless radiance,
Singing a song to cup the fragile
draught of life.
The tiger has become my friend.
The dragon makes merry with the clouds,
And among the mountain peaks
Ancient men in ancient clothes
Take shelter in the grottoes of the wind.
"The rivers and rocks are married together --
No one remembers our name."
Looking now through the window of a womb
At hands that have touched everything
in the universe --
Now clenched in embryonic fists --
The world's been turned to gold
Impacted, imploded, blasted inward,
Melted, smelted, and refined
"I dwelt among the rivers of your mind."
I have been walking in the empty hills
Down under the mountains
Through caverns of blackness
That echo with untrodden tunnels,
Searching for the El Dorado of the blind.
Now, look, where cold invisible herons
Come to spread their wings
In a sky rippled with clouds,
And ancient men in ancient clothes
Take shelter in the grottoes of the wind.
"The mountains are of gold;
The world is a jewel,
A spider in a precious web."
Unafraid, he said, I walk through
the golden abyss, the fathomless radiance,
Singing a song to cup the fragile
draught of life.
The tiger has become my friend.
The dragon makes merry with the clouds,
And among the mountain peaks
Ancient men in ancient clothes
Take shelter in the grottoes of the wind.
"The rivers and rocks are married together --
No one remembers our name."