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Poetry, Summer 2007

Page 2

Deluge by Donald Kuspit


deluge iii



pillaged by passion,

                                        the temple of thought

became a ruin of words.

                                              ideas are broken

like ancient statues,

                                      losing their promise

of glory,

                their meanings crumbling,

their marble pockmarked

                                                by time,

shadow staring blankly

                                             from their empty eyes,

their arrogance embittered

                                                   by dust,

the only intimacy left

                                        in the inevitable.


fragments are strewn

                                         in dreams

waiting to be excavated

                                              like missing pieces

of a puzzle

                     that can never be finished.

but the enigma

                             remains intact in the tomb,

protected by angels

                                       from forgotten heavens,

hovering in the passing wind.

                                                         words finally lose

their mooring in meaning,

                                                 and wander restlessly,

bricks from the babels

                                           of the past

unable to build a future.

                                              silence corrodes

them completely.

                                 the novel thought

becomes a blunder,

                                       true faith

betraying itself.

                              oblivion sinks its teeth

into the carrion

                             of consciousness.


death has shown

                                  its primordial wisdom,

loss its fury.

                        one must have a clear memory

of fate

             to have an afterlife.


deluge iv



the infinite faded

                                into a skyline of feeling,

drugging words

                               with innocence,

deluding them

                             into timelessness.

then the clouds settled,

                                             crumbling the buildings

into mist.

                  the city became an emporium

of emptiness.

                          deluged by shadow,

it lost breath,

                          becoming a mirage

able to give meaning

                                         to meaninglessness.



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Per Contra Summer 2007