Another Poem

Hey all you imaginary readers! Here’s another poem I wrote more recently.

 

 

Epigraph:

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– Francisco Goya

 

 

The Giant

 

The Giant stands,

Boiling worms fill his head,

knowing he could just stoop,

Could melt like lead.

.

His horizon is empty now,

His people, ground under human heel.

The laughing mountains are gone,

monoliths crushed with fire and steel.

.

The Giant dreams

of a Joutunheim fastness,

of smiling and dancing with the dead.

Even in sleep, they lurk beyond veils of brass.

.

Dreaming makes waking torture,

a rot beneath his eyelids thrust.

His tectonic body hemorrhages

red that trickles down pitted cheeks, rust.

.

The Giant feels,

gnawing against the scabs of past faults.

Except when it matters;

his heart pumps Kelvin cobalt.

.

Sinews snap, knees buckle.

A brittle sentinel is he

cracking, but still reaching forward, up,

grasping at mercury.

.

Note: I have to put periods in between my stanzas because I can’t figure out how to make a line break in this editor!

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