Weight

Another of my current favorites

The great, quiet significance,

In mist around a church steeple,

Shy autumn cloak of the sky's dark stiletto blade.

The sound of a firing squad

From several blocks away

Crisp, ringing in the new year.

In the tombstone shadow of nostalgia

Sweeping down from a window of the past,

Fleeing with the soft creak of the world sneaking up behind it.

The blinding lights of the freezing north,

The blood-soaked sands of the Garden of Eden,

These have a significance that screams for miles,

Tearing across concrete racetracks of thought into the present from the past.

But significance can whisper,

And the firefly's plea is brighter at night

Than a flash of gunmetal, cowed helpless to the thunderous sun.

These are the thoughts from the mute brain of the blindfolded obsidian Goliath

Whose hands are too crude to find the knot of his self-inflicted sorrow

Who has seen a footprint on the ageless face of the moon,

But not the shape of the stone that will bring him death.