Fortunes Land

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Religion and Spirituality  |  House: Phoenix Poetry

Submitted: March 09, 2017

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Submitted: March 09, 2017



Seasons have been named on Fortunes Land,

Glass shells have dried upon the virginal sand

And like my eyes, the sky is no longer set red

Nor are the mourners still mourning the dead.


Once the children ran free, once they were named

In patched illuminations of dull cotton, wool and silk

She says— But now musky rags line the promenade 

And I prey still, behind the waves of fervant blue milk.


Where pageants once roared passions and triumphs,

Rats gnaw the bubbles of moss frothing from concrete

And victory is hidden by women with an artists discreet,

Only does the crown unforged fit the visions of a nymph.


Those tears blur the skin of each compass

Scarred pavements age softly, halved at their own sight;

And young girls seem to harden, Alas!

Does the modern peasant see his journey liked?


Seasons have been named on Fortune’s Land,

The golden sand fades to dust at the open hand

And glass is smashed upon the battered feet of an infant’s band;

That Owl squaks, Youth quaks, do I write with a bleeding wand?! 

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