Reality is the Irregularity of the Past.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

A Friendly Voice

I heard a voice so distant, yet so fair,
Not gathered, but sing’lar beyond compare;
Somewhere, not too far from here, somewhat;
Too staggered, half-spectral, be gone, but here.

What this chant possessed; from my ear distraught,
And I ought not to stop this being-not so wrought,
Now mine own stutter refrained eerily,
How in me this disembodiment has caught.

I’ve never heard such this spoken medley,
“Light from off the darkened foreground!” said he,
“Spite the ruffled gravitas, and vague tweet!”
I’ve ne’er heard such this ravened melody.

T’was but on that solemn day’s lonely street,
What so fair a day this voice to me did greet,
I, but some wayfaring stranger, wholly poor,
Was out o’ my superstitious head to meet.

Th’wind wafted wearily anon before,
Like through ancient trees on a windy shore;
Or the blunderings in a farewell to lust,
Wonders twisting to be heard nevermore.

Ghastly-toned from across Nature’s crust;
That which Time has buried in the rust,
This voice, friendship so long ago forgot,
Yet, on a Frequency playing through Dust.

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