The Suburban Vagabond

On a search for a better world, finding it in the most unlikely places

The Quiet Man

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Outside the glittering city’s towers

From beneath the bloody boots

Behind every ascending power, the quiet man regards the daylight

 

Hercules had his stables

He his rows, in endless procession

Never slows for for calamity, his path wends under the Scale and the Ram

 

No permanent monument

No lasting masterpiece his estate

His only coat of arms, the Analemma, the Ecliptic

 

He gathers in his bronzed arms

The treasure of Earth – the staple of life

And takes the pittance, the token of disrespect

 

His is the earth, the sorrow

Communion celestial, terrestrial, divine

He talks to God and Man with a constant, deliberate, fidelity

 

Who can say?

When the cacophony of conquest has ceased –

When tyrants and great men are unmasked – when Jubilee reigns in a Garden made new, then…

 

God Himself may step down and take

The weather-beaten palm, proclaiming

I have found an Heir, a Brother, who loves my creation as I do

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This entry was posted on 2013/09/15 by in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , .

Shorter thoughts…

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