Thursday, August 18, 2011

Apposite Ness

There is a little thistle bush
Above the roaring sea
And this tiny little thistle bush
Hung high and precariously
Its fingers dug into the stone
The mammoth standing all alone
Its mighty face unmoved by shadow
The storms above the sea far below
While this small little thistle bush
Hung between the sea and sky
And this bristle little thistle bush
With roar of waves and sea bird cry
No longer could recall its own life story
How it came to rest upon the promitory
From distant lands bathed in spice
Where inscenced air infused all life
And flowers tropical and large
Perfumed the sail of junk and barge
That sailed the rivers twixt collumns bare
Half eaten statues of the Huntress and the Hare
Where lazy ivy coiled round long lost words
Recalling songs only the stones had heard
Was this the home from where this bush hailed
Upon the wind's delicate wings had sailed
And carried aloft by the wonton breeze
Into the feathered arms of the night, its ease
Did take in the frosty vaults of the star's abode
Pulled in the celestial maelstrome around the lode
And there in boreal frosty heavens it brushed
Upon telesian trails trod by angels hushed
And there it sought it's roots to grasp
And draw the ambrosia that drips from angelic gasps
But the celestial glass would afford no hold
And the frozen star's of heaven were too cold
And so departing from the gates of the night
It continued on it's sojourning flight
Long was the night that led to the dawn
Long was the wait until new life was reborn
Long was the trail that the thistle seeds took
For earth could not compare once upon heaven looked
And finally caught up in the fickle Zephyrian bands
That swept it amidts clouds of these foreign lands
Where the flash of Jove cut the clouds with fire
And the rain fell as stones while the wind roared with ire
And the sea churned white with foam and dread
And the stirrer of storms called forth the drowned dead
And amidst all this there was caught the thistleseed
That searched for any place to land and bleed
Until the wind buffeted it against the iron cliff face
And over and again it felt life to be erased
But then as darkness enclosed the husk
And the light of day was enveloped in dusk
There was a second spark then born
As the seed then was completely transformed
And so the little thistle bush came to rest
Upon the cliff face that all life did detest
And it clung there with all of its might
Burned in the day and frozen in the night
But it refused to give up its desperate fight
And instead was changed into the painter's delight
For with raging sea foam crested below
And churning heavens with sunlight aglow
And unmoved antedeluvian cliffs of stone
A single bush of green persevered alone.

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