The Wine

“The Wine”

Seldom it occurs to me that I was a child
When the sunrise summoned me, “Embark!”
But where were the Travelers who had seen
The land to where I was going?
Where were the Builders whose hands
Had kissed the hues of falling stars?

How could I know, when nothing came before,
To say that I will say I’m sorry tomorrow
When there was no past to reflect?
Who saw my blood is wine—a loathsome wine?
I dare not drink, should I drink in vain.
But this disgrace carves into my flesh
And I see the fell sires of what was calamity
Drink deeply of the gore that feeds my burden.

In the past that I am making
Was I a demon in awe of such divinity
When my reason slumbered?
In the comfort of the darkness
A strange fear wakes in my heart:
Shall the footsteps cease to follow?
Long have I heard them behind me…
To lose them…would all be lost?
What is silence? What is silence?

© 2022 Marten Hoyle