The Tall Grass
On the lonely nights, the dead wait
In the Tall Grass, painted faces
Shining in the pale light
Of the Coahuila moon.
They stand, line by line,
Singing their quiet song,
Singing, until even the coyotes
Tuck tail and cower in silence.
The world moves on
Without them,
But it will return one day.
It always returns.
And so on lonely nights,
In the Tall Grass,
The dead hide, and sing, and wait.
The dead wait endlessly.
In the Tall Grass, painted faces
Shining in the pale light
Of the Coahuila moon.
They stand, line by line,
Singing their quiet song,
Singing, until even the coyotes
Tuck tail and cower in silence.
The world moves on
Without them,
But it will return one day.
It always returns.
And so on lonely nights,
In the Tall Grass,
The dead hide, and sing, and wait.
The dead wait endlessly.
posted by Milo at 5:05 PM
3 Comments:
Coyote,
Interesting. Never really thought of that. I actually was inspired to write this after a particularly vivid nightmare I had falling asleep on the back of a five-ton, listening to "Lipan Conjuring" by Tool. Give it a listen if you want a deeper grasp of the poem. Later.
Milo
I think this one's my favorite yet, but I admit a fondness for the lingering dead.
...that sounds extremely fucked up. Heh.
...another stunning piece, Milo...hope that your heavy decisions are resolved and your life path becomes clear...
...peace, brother...
Post a Comment
<< Home