A Sphere; ’Tis A Cold Star! — A Sightseer’s Poems
From blazing saddles in the headwind — To this — infirmity of Now.
Equidistant to hopes — I often think why, to the reasoning of shuddering Oboes.
A tamed, emblazoned orb that we have molested to a mere Globe —
From blazing saddles in the headwind —
To this — infirmity of Now —
My Wive to that glittering funster —
From the bloating of such hubris — I curve that sphere — such as we.
Tizzy by fate!
We are in this world by the cosmos assures —
Inbounds uncured —
Might in you — might in me!
My-my, say you, saying-by-thru’ these fine roofs —
postulating me mad and white to accursed desires;
Dreaming of a fondly supped babe in the arms, like the globe —
Floating in my eyes — that emblazoned spheroid!
My-my, you mighty mound!
Life doesn’t run by on colors — this sudden sly sigh, is heard whenever the—
Cosmos is all together and the cold stars are too, halting the blackening
stars into place, when all around this Earth, across this strained Cosmos,
Your pain is felt by it, this upheaval, branding to all — felt by that lone Seer.
’Tis my sphere — ending coolly to the reins of deported giants.
All my beloved giants coming to and fro within this verging life.
I love you all, yet I must admit, I feel your pain always, when the shock is
first beheld to the finely bosom and the bode mental is strained heavily by
an untaxed heart; deprived of a love that binds hate to reason —
I hear you all — I must admit myself to that seeing notion.
My beloved sphere — come enlarged, entirely to escaping time —
I must adore you — I must, mustn’t I before it’s too grave,
And these watchful men take their last chance on me
And it becomes all Just, and too Late.
The wealth we had — never had, my wife — too late.
A Poem Of Sightseer:
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