NEVER

Away, beyond the ice-blue sky,
There lives a day called Never.
Sometimes the teal-blue clouds
Fling thunder out at Never.


Then the teal-blue clouds
Ring thunder at Forever.
They rain, in serpent tongues,
That speak the name of Never.


And seraphim are restless then
In the land this side of Never.
Like haunted horses driven wild
They feel the winds of Never.


As sullen skies turn charcoal stone
I feel the cold of Never
And bitter winds beat back the joy
In the stuttered sound of Never.


What angel voice has spoke the name?
Who peened the prongs of Never?
Who cast the mace in silvered halls,
To bannish love to Never?


Away beyond the fuscia ridge
There burns the pyre of Never.
And smoke-smeared stars fade dimmer
In the darkening of Never.


Beneath the pyre, the pit is black;
A shaft, as cold as Never,
A vortex, like a Nebula;
A black hole, under Never.


Above the tungsten tower truss,
In arcing arches, Never
Tears the tracers time has told,
And fowl are fouled by Never.


They circle north, they circle south
There in the glare of Never.
On weary wings they wend away
And sync the song of Never.


So what is man, this terra firm'd,
Who walks the coals of Never?
And what is woman, terra derm'd,
Who torched the tower of Never?


We are mortal; we are dust
There in the winds of Never.
We are wanderers, and weary ones
Who chance the chart of Never.

COPYRIGHT DAVE MARTIN - ADVENTURE AGENT