rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Quiet

No storm here, but soft wind now cool in the late summer night. Pale light of the waning moon covers the lawn like a premonition of frost. The humming trees emit no more than the ghost of a wail, while the seasonal insects, soon to perish, chirp away ignorant of their decline. Sleep tugs at my eyelids, but my brain defies it. There's something I ought to be doing, but I don't know what it is. Instead, I read verse.



Lamarck Elaborated

"The environment creates the organ"


The Greeks were wrong who said our eyes have rays;
Not from these sockets or these sparkling poles
Comes the illumination of our days.
It was the sun that bored these two blue holes.

It was the song of doves begot the ear
And not the ear that first conceived of sound:
That organ bloomed in vibrant atmosphere,
As music conjured Ilium from the ground.

The yielding water, the repugnant stone,
The poisoned berry and the flaring rose
Attired in sense the tactless finger-bone
And set the taste-buds and inspired the nose.

Out of our vivid ambiance came unsought
All sense but that most formidably dim.
The shell of balance rolls in seas of thought.
It was the mind that taught the head to swim.

Newtonian numbers set to cosmic lyres
Whelmed us in whirling worlds we could not know,
And by the imagined floods of our desires
The voice of Sirens gave us vertigo.

-- by Richard Wilbur


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