Rilke, Rilke, Rilke,

 

I call out to you beyond this dark incarceration

I turn and tap-tap

and tap again towards the warming flow of you

and suddenly these damned thoughts break

and freedom floods from sweating pores

reminding me to bathe once more

within your overflowing Brook of Hours.

Refresh my being

so I become awash

and away within your mystical yearnings

your improvised outpourings

escaping this doubt to drown

yes drowning freely within these

watery wonders beyond my dried

and sorrow filled mind

and within this age-old

re moistening of newness

my vision softens

and reflections haze to

the greyness of these half ingested present days.

 

Breathing beyond this shallow pit

this constricted pleasure chest

I Panther prowl your prose once more;

‘His gaze, going past those bars, has got so misted

with tiredness, it can take in nothing more.

He feels as though a thousand bars existed,

and no more world beyond them than before.’

and smiles rise upon

a frail frame of trembling lips

and eternity missed in this flat packed paced world

of shape shift and guilt

of self-made universes spinning deeper within

the worrisome furrows

of my earth-bound skin.

 

Rilke Rilke Rilke

you offer the pause

the claw back and break

to my urge to perfect an ever exhausting rake

through the tap-tap trappings

and pressured increase of this current time.

Your fossils of sight

still seeing within those collected

and yellowing paper-back pages

stills my frame

my very being that

I might re-find the realness of ages

and taste once again

a peaceful existence beyond

and within

this word filled mind.

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