Twice yearly at the equinox
a golden spear pierces early vapour
(sometimes setting clouds on
fire)
arrows along the Grimescar
Valley until,
encountering an obstacle to
its interstellar path
(my house, my cave, my temple)
it rips through a curtain
crevice
to slay my dream-bound sleep with
blood-red light,
changing me in a single strike
from sleeping animal to waking
god.
Creative, evocative, unusual. Like all good poetry, every word earns its keep. A poem which improves with each reading. I love it.
ReplyDeleteI really like this, Andrew. The imagery is great. It's like I am there. Yes!
ReplyDeleteThanks Heather. I'm glad the poem communicated to you.
DeleteA lovely verse journey. I must remember to bow down when I see you next, O Almighty Andrew! ;)
ReplyDeleteThanks!
Pretentious, Moi?
Delete