poetry

monolith

Sink your think-is-best through and through...

    Battle my mind:
This stone-scraped saber
  Hilted in grey,
Its sway once wielded
      Unquietly;
  Sink your think-is-best
Through and through;
  Chisel your smarts
      Into my chest—
    On acuminous arts,
My spoil is yours to win,
        It’s true.
But, then, make war
    On my heart?
I take that mountain,
  Star-scorched, duty-scored
      And molten-made,
  Warned you fairly
Against spurious spade:
    You’re better to sip
  Its foothill dew
And to feign a great fiction
    On a little lore;
For that toilsome,
        Gneiss-mawed,
    Ice-clawed,
  Turn-back-now trip,
You’re ten-thousand too few—
    Maybe much more.


Previous Post:
    Poetry: Sagittarius A*
        https://windstrewn.com/2018/11/07/sagittarius-a/


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