Sunday, May 07, 2006

Yeah...I donno

Ariadiea by Morning

Three suns rise as the moon sets
And I hurry to an unblessed hovel
I won’t make it home in time
These suns rise in the west

We wonder how they don’t spin wrong
But the gods they tell us
Guide them by ineffable song
And so we pray to them nightly
Beneath the cool moon
Before we tend our beasts
Bathe our children
And take to the plow

It is winter now
And the fields grow full
We horde these small grains,
Golden piles beneath the ground
In reverent silent worship
Of the sky-fires we will never touch
Like so many ants
For the summer comes
And the suns draw closer
To scorch our thirsting earth
But the gods they tell us
Designed it this way
And who are we to question


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