Saturday, July 30, 2016

Old Painting by John Bonanno

All will be hidden before all is lost,
No metal machine can compute the cost.
But golden buds upon the snow,
Shall light that whitened night aglow.

A desk in a drawer shall the demons be,
In negative twist for eternity.
Considering discipline, doctrine, law...
Based on their premise which precludes any flaw.

But I must escape on the stony path,
'Though this will raise the demons' wrath.
And quicken the molten center of the earth,
As a chick in an egg before its birth.

A man who sleeps in fits am I,
Who shall awaken when I die.
What comfort therefore can I give,
To one who merely wants to live?


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