Poem a Day 30

Today’s prompt is a dead end, so I offer this final summation of the last month.

The March of Drought

Crawl, worm! And scamper, spider, slither, snail!
The wingéd angel covers up his tail
Just as he covered up, long nights ago,
The tears upon, and tears right through the veil.

And squatting by the temple, at the door,
The incubus of all that came before:
You may not enter is his only word
(He says it as one word, and not as four).

The very heart of this great Mystery
Where beats the blood in lockstep tyranny
Is nothing to the dancing at the margin
Where caper preterites like you and me.

“A moment glimpsed”—and that when we were young,
So very young. The jumprope rhymes we’d sung
Encoded wisdom like a Rorschach blot,
The books pretended. So I held my tongue.

When Perceval stood silent by the Grail
He failed. In silence you and I will fail.
Let’s find some fashion in eternity
Wrapped in the rent and tear-stained so-called veil.

His back turned to the cunning and the wise,
The wingéd angel covers up the eyes
In hope that when at last the promised truth
Arriveth, it will come a surprise.

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