The Birth Day Of The Sun: Part II

Earthly etherea: adorn
these pregnant plains.
E’er-seeded maiden land;
adored ether’yul Earth.

Break ‘to budding birth-throes –
th’labour of the eastern shore,
begetting new luci’frous wings
to rise and fall in fire.

Faint cries fringe the pre-morn
firmament, its white-lit pitch
disturbed – inevitable transformation
scorned by energy.

Soundless stands each stretch of houses.
Come to courtyard at street’s end:
muted’s the protracted pain of
tight’ning ‘ternal walls.

Straw heaps strewn ‘n livestock
huddled; wood-slat-slating o’er.
The servant girl – with woman – coos
‘n shifts new-soiled hay.

Hunched paternal, bale-atop,
whittling wistsomely, a fathered
figure frets upon th’fate faced
by his bead of light beloved.

Tearing at the world’s beginning,
crowned in blackblue-goldenred,
the sky sings of arrival as
the sun returns to being.

My name is William Altoft. I’m a writer in and from (and consistently on) Bristol, in the UK.


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