There is an old giant
who knows no surprises,
sleeps two days
and on the third sun rises
Plateaus were once mountains
that he squashed flat
and the seas are where
he washes his hat
He's so giant, in fact,
that he can't be seen
And it's impossible to explain
what that even means
The Kraken of lore,
we know that's not true
Funny, because that's what
this giant thinks of you
To him our story
has come and will go
Just another tale
in the endless flow
So he sleeps and rises,
he sits and he waits
And he won't be sure why
until it's probably too late
1/2/10
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1 comment:
This one totally got by me! Love it! Also just read "A note of praise" for the first time. Could hear that being just as powerful spoken as read. Thanks, John.
About your (and mine) writing, here's a quote for your encouragement that I stumbled upon...
"All of writing is a huge lake. There are great rivers that feed the lake, like Tolstoy or Dostoyevsky. And then there are mere trickles, like Jean Rhys. All that matters is feeding the lake. I don't matter. The lake matters. You must keep feeding the lake."
— Jean Rhys
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