Fridge Poetry 9 - God in the gold mine

The god of the gold mine is lost in a strange dream and he

likes it:

a midnight storm filled with wicked whispering

and damning collapse so common the god is but

a man,

some sucker spirit drunk on the sound of time,

not knowing the evening light is without dawn

and the seed bears no fruit,

nor that the flower in the dark has little for which to hope;

his walk is so lazy graves fill as he shows

the

gall

to dance in naked delight under a pale poisoned

morning,

full of dread and cursed to believe a liar’s embrace,

and to drink tears from the cheeks of a pariah poet

who is but an echo of a fevered scream;

time almost forgot her.

And this finite god would dream a goddess into a ghost,

would dream every dream just to keep forgetting.