Thoughts
What if a branch
was the resurrection
of Homer or Basho
and the trees the words
they would write
if they were immortal?
Does it sound too
grandiose to be believed,
immortal poets taking
the shape of nature?
The shining sun
would be the Generation
of 27 or the Beats,
with burning words
I wish I could have
penned myself.
I would pull up to the beach
and watch Sappho
as a wave, her words
the storms beating
on vessels passing through.
The sand, each strain,
the immortal words
of the French Symbolists
or every heteronym of
Fernando Pessoa.
Those thoughts run through
my head. Every stone
I look at are the resurrection
of the poets of China’s
Tang Dynasty, Wang Wei,
Li Bai, and Du Fu, each stone
symbolizing a poem
living in immortality.
No one came back
as another man or sage,
no one came back
as a Holy Spirit.
Those thoughts run through
my mind.
The moonlight
would be the words
of the poets
gone hysterically mad,
due to the circumstances
they were dealt,
war, oppression, and
incarceration,
their words deemed
too dangerous by
authoritarian and
hyper-religious regimes.
I spend all day
thinking such thoughts,
looking at flowers
and believing
they are the words of
poets resurrected
from oblivion.
Their words out of
print, but alive in
each blade of grass,
each branch,
each tree,
in the sea and its waves,
shining in the light
of the sun and moon,
and every star.
Are my thoughts
not to be believed?
About the Author: Luis lives in California and works in Los Angeles. His poems have appeared in Ariel Chart, As It Ought To Be, Blue Collar Review, Escape Into Life, and Unlikely Stories. His latest book, Make The Water Laugh (Rogué Wolf Press), is available on Amazon.
Image Credit: Winslow Homer, “Moonlight on the Water” Public domain image courtesy of Artvee
As It Ought To Be 