noon pony giant sycamore

a 'real poem'

the downpour of my sorrows is never-ending
cascading into a sea upon a sea within my being
and as i find myself once again
up, in resurgence toward jubilation
it is as if a soft condensing
occurred along the ocean's banks
and slowly rose amidst the sun's sprightly columns
within all solar life-prompting light,
dashing about the ether
my spirit ascends and peaks; a precipice of joy
and i look at all the world with a smile
until the evening chills me once again
and the sum of all the world's power
amassed along an invisible horizon
falls, forever, for what is up
but where the pull of all earth's anguish
is the strongest, but still, the same
and happiness is not
the undoing of nature's feats
but a simple subsequence
preceding all and nothing
and all

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