The Poetry Of.
Francis Masat...............................................
Ordained
A sand-stone fireplace,
a burned black hulk, silhouettes
against wind-whipped stubbled fields,
alone, as if mourning
lost dreams.
Abandoned rails,
rough russet red, slink away
against blackened stones
alone, as if withering
in the sun's forever glare.
A grain elevator,
dazzling white, monoliths
against an endless indigo sky,
alone, as if shunned
by a vanished prairie town.
But the asters and sunflowers,
the clover and Alexander,
the gay-feather and Indian grass,
all the growing things together
will have none of this.
As if ascended from a netherworld,
a living paint box has begun
to creep and climb and spread,
to reclaim its past,
to reclaim its former glory.
Ah, Here I Go Again
my eyes are
drawn, pulled, spun
crimsoned
into the trees,
translucent,
green of greens
as I crawl again
along a branch, slow
my raining thoughts
transcend this world
an old clarity
of existence
reveals itself
in each new leaf
and I am lost
again, lost
but find myself
once more
where I wish
to be
Thoughts So Filled
Untouched by time,
thoughts of you
come drifting back.
Moments warm and gentle
that are forever
borne within my soul.
With each memory
I feel once more,
exquisite pangs of anguish.
Tears of love flow silently,
my thoughts so filled
with you, I am no longer me.
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