Black Garlands from Clara Engel by Avi C. Engel

come down.....

april sun wanes
prisms of gold
and knives of light
slash the fields open
the sun is far and cold
this garden where i was born
reckless sailor left behind
forgotten in the morning

I see far away lovers
under an old oak tree
the song of their bliss
it rises like a sea
some sweet refuge
from this longing and cold
but I never find shelter
in anyone's arms

I hear the highway singing
a hymn darker than coal
drones deep enough
to unearth buried suns

come down you black garlands
make a bed for me
your dark nectars have poisoned my sleep
I've fallen far
inside and deep
now I'm ready to go
now there's nothing holding me

april sun wanes
prisms of gold
knives of light
slash the fields open

• Experimental
• alternative
• avant-garde
• folk
• Toronto