The Philosopher by The Philosopher

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Who lived here when the stones were green

verdigris of age when the reptilians marched like men

into the night before that morning the sea

emptying its cup of wounds like a chasm of revolt.

like a castaway an old man kept his books in a cave

desolate his memory of life a portrait

like an abstraction of years, he lived

forgotten by others before the last tidal wave

I consecrate him seer his beard was a white book

where we read about kings and prophets

planners of the ruins astride our stormy conscience

to write what history the moon already dripping its sea of red


the whirlwind that licked over your body

amulet of season playing fangs on the translucent word

flagellant at crossroads where the word was nailed

neologist who dressed the world in hendecasyllabic verse

O monk saddened when you consecrated the word in body

stripped when you meditated in penury

you return shadow from shadow the word

transformed into phoenix you return the man

reigning the length of the raised cross

violated your soul we fashion you into memory

drift of a cyclone, man with whom we raise our conscience

you rise from your body to be equal to your name!

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