The World of Echoes

The World of Echoes
By David Cortez

To dust! To dust!
A fine mist, rust,
it paints like covered sheet,
and leaves a naked path behind,
if chance, a finger meet.

Oh dust! This dust,
I knew it once,
a recognized debris,
of standing walls and decor'd halls
hath change come errantly.

We dust, we dust,
of grand repose,
long past have taken sleep,
and long since stirred, perpetual,
this ember in us creep.

Shed dust, shed dust!
in crack and flume,
all shadowed digit curl,
as once again the ember glows,
move gears, in clockwork world.

We rise, we rise,
the ground a sea
of writhing metal forms,
as life anew, breathed life into,
dead metal eyes transform.

To war! To War!
We march in flame,
and all around, more dust,
behind us, Time be-wing-ed, fly's,
for forward on, we must.

And leave a carcass world behind,
and so convert to dust,
as haunted chanting stir of ghosts
sing on, "to dust, TO DUST!"

If Bands of Light Could Shadow

By David Cortez

The bands of a purloined sun,
bright hands breach canopy,
to bathe the rib cage tree trunk,
in light on the Tarwood tree.

Her legs, like winged butterflies,
grace wind like sweet Chablis,
and just as intoxicating,
is this Miss under Tarwood tree.

Here Faye-like, She, be swinging
in the early morning wee,
unlike nymphs and fairies might fear it,
she loves her Tarwood tree.

And if like with human passion,
in return, as lover would be,
in comfort, forever guarded
in the arms of her Tarwood tree.