Above clouds I stand— Inverted Atlas—My arms Holding Dawn from Earth.
By Steve Hanson3 years ago in Poets
Did gods only plant These rocks? Or, are they seed husks Of sunsets, long bloomed?
At Shenandoah Eagles ride down the valley On winds—I’ll just drive.
Sing, muse, of the rage Of Zeus—Olympus now sleeps, And dreams of blue skies.
Corridors between The peaks draw songs from wind, but Rocks keep dreams silent.
In frost, mountains hold Winter. But, above the clouds, Dream of secret suns.
At Dream Lake, the stars Reflect in secret mirrors, as Only mountains know.
Before the fires, Did she dream how far the stars Seem, above the ground?
Above the world, clouds Pass (so gently), then, depart, Bequeathing blue skies.
Trees below grow large, But, in winds, rage. Moss above Climbs high, and sleeps well.
Before the massacre, before that damned king tore down the tree, before I found the child alone in those cursed woods, I confess I never knew that much about humans.
By Steve Hanson3 years ago in Fiction
For the ancients, the rainbow goddess served, likewise, as divine messenger, spawned from the froth and embers of the sea,
