Tuesday, 27 November 2012

Sonnet for John Keats

Shadow stencilled the floodlit spillage
Laces the city's chromatic heart,
Tinctured by the silk of wind
That reddens the sinew crooked peaks
Hidden in the time-burnt bushes
And the wet banks of luxurient dirt.
Arterial branches stretch their blackened nerves
Against the palms of the blood-damp night.
Soothed in the rose-dark darkness,
Life mothers itself in the crippled woodland,
The ancient waters of silver freshness,
And the quiet tempests of the grasses.
A landscape of electromagnetics pulses
At the points of its aeriel spires and cathedrals.

No comments:

Post a Comment