There
is movement all about me, forms I can’t discern, floating in my dreams
There
are shadows on the cavern walls, wavering in chaotic streams
Questions
scrape my bones like hungry wraiths, solutions never see the light of day
Bundle
up the answers, bind them like sheaves of straw, set to fire in the night
The
furies rise from the ash beds, there is no phoenix, no morning sun
Bury
seeds in the cold-field, bits of knowledge, pushed into the wet earth
Fragile
little plantlings hungry for life, set their roots and stretch out for
the light
Heedless
of the storm descending, turn to face the darkened horizon, resisting
As
dreams fall like stars from the sky, the harvest rots while and fields are set
on fire
There
is phoenix rising, only the furies fly from the ash beds, their swarm blots the
sun
We
heard the promise and followed its call, we stood beneath the open sky
To
bask in the solar wind, blind as the troglodyte emerging from the cave
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