The Swan


by Pavel Chichikov

The future previewed in a room

A screening room – all towers fall

But in the courtyard is a well

Deep and clear, invulnerable

Who to see and what is there,

Is there a swan that swims on air?

A different vision now, a face

With every wound a scored disgrace

Each wound a well, a bleeding sore

Tears of venom spat by those

Who have no pity on the poor

Prophet, they divide His clothes

By then the ripples, images

Become the crippled fugitives

Robbed by rapine of their own homes –

Each borough a Jerusalem

See the swan divide its wings –

Look aloft and see them rise,

These are not imaginings

But dreams awake and openings

All come home is what I see

But first there is catastrophe –

The towers fall as ever they

Have fallen on another day


(Click here to follow Pavel's ongoing epic poem “The Shoulder of the Sun.” You may visit Pavel's website at http://www.greyowlpress.com.)

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