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─ after Dylan Thomas
If my last words are a question,
does the answer even matter?
Hope may be a liar of dying thunder.
Then am I just another transparent soul
disappearing into the emptiness of night
where I cast forever an unfinished shadow?
Still, the end of rage takes time,
so let me fight the hours to summon you back,
again hold your love so long ago cast out
from my crowd of self-pursuit. In my fight
to fade slowly, you dream in my dream;
you swaddle me in a shroud of light
that I can no longer put out,
that cannot go with me into night.
Every breath now pushes against the sails
on a voyage without compass or helm.
The chapters of truth turn their pages
back and forth, the order of truth
no more important than the path of wind,
the path of wind less important
than the song it sings.
In the last land I see,
if there is no wind, no earth, no stars,
no mind to wrap itself around a void,
then let absence be the deepest
presence of all. Let its black waters fill
the hole with truth, or with nothing
if that is the truth.
Robert S. King grew up in rural Georgia and is now retired to the Blue Ridge Mountains of that state. After a career as a technical editor and then as a software engineer, he now devotes himself to writing and running his literary publishing company FutureCycle Press. He also serves as President of the Georgia Poetry Society.
The South, nature, and social issues have always inspired his writing. He has a soft spot for the homeless, as evidenced in the verse published here. He believes poetry is not only great art but also is relevant to the times. His work has appeared in hundreds of magazines, and he has published five books of poetry.
Robert served in the U.S. Navy during the Vietnam Era. That time, too, has influenced his life and work. The happiest day of his life was June 23, 1972, when he was honorably discharged. His e-mail address: Robert S. King