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| Valley of the Gods |
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| Poetry Cycles - Ancient of Days | |
| Lisa Jain Thompson | |
| Sunday, 25 February 2007 15:31 | |
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I must have drunk too much Dylan before I wrote this.
Valley of the Gods
He left in the long humid summer of the valley of the gods.
Behind him, stretching towards far Centauri,
Stood temples whose walls are adorned with jeweled travices, Each one richer than the last. The dark grain overflows the steel sepulchers,
Not unlike ambrosia running over a silver-plated chalice. There are two paths from Shangri-la.
The higher road is paved with precious metal. Rubies and emerals are embedded in straw mansions Situated on the river from which golden geese flow. Enclosed in vaults of ivory, honey oozes from the overfilled urns. Eternity is sown upon the second road:
No one ever cast a glance or cast a second thought.
Diamond beads of glass bubbles clung to shacks Built on rivers of much. Empty, slime-filled banks are enclosed In nothingnesses of tin. His steps entered into a cool autumn which he did not realize:
He drew back from the paper dragon overun by ants filled with vacuum; A bear reaping a harvest of lands populated with famine Fought an eagle adorned with a cross molded from blood and plastic. He sought the food of the gods Only to find it rotting in the depths of abysmalness. Looking down he saw the billions trembling,
Reaching for the fruit off the vine and grasping nothing;
Their voices cried out, asking for a drop of water But receiving nothing but a grain of salt; His mute righteousness was repulsed
As he saw the them as jackals preying on those who were good. He returned to the long cold winter of the valley of the gods;
Behind him stands nine-tenths of the illustrious future.
Lisa Jain Thompson
July 30, 1966
This version re-edited February 2007
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