visitations

April 24, 2018 at 2:35 pm Leave a comment

visitations

pausing at
the Hill of Skulls,
we left three flowers. (somewhere
near, rubbish burned; and a homeless mongrel
scratched at the earth)

but there was
(i am not sure
i expected any) no answer, and
after a moment
we merely walked away.

that Hill
was merely dead,
a blasted place, choked
with weeds and rubbish, and He

(i saw, to be honest,
no record of His passage)
was not there.
(my mouth was dry.)

pausing at the
Hill of Skulls, i think,
perhaps
i left my soul.

____________________________________________________

Same summer.  Nikos Kazantzakis.

Entry filed under: Ancient Poetry, voices. Tags: , .

elegy To write for its own sake still

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