by Pavel Chichikov
These hickory and oak leaves fall
Like parachutists, and the oak
Is crimson as the skin that breaks
He said: when we came back from war
Something in them broke – they jumped
From windows on the upper floors
All species of a metaphor,
Falling things are so allied –
Some used the roof for suicide
Flying arms and legs aflame
Like falling leaves, and spinning heads
Can break on pillows in their beds
Insanity is seldom prompt
When violence and fear has triumphed –
Woe to the victors and the vanquished
But others never seem as bent
They live until retirement
And most are silent
And yet there is another debt –
I heard Him say on Olivet
Thy will be done, if I must pay
Thy will be done if I must pay
But how the debt mounts up until
I must sweat blood to do Thy will
(Click here to follow Pavel's ongoing epic poem “The Shoulder of the Sun.” You may also visit Pavel's website at Grey Owl Press.)
