Tilted Earth

Some who dream a freer mirth

Upon a warm, less tilted earth

Can sigh for ghosts, a crystal soul,

The puzzled parts of a greater whole.

 

Some sing the scarlet songs of loss

Beneath a raised and flowered cross

That stretch to praise the Vanished Word

In verse unfinished, hymns unheard.

 

And meanwhile, harlot hymns abound

To waste their words in packaged sound

While th’ honest, broken buyer screams

For weaker kings of prouder dreams.

 

Some wonder then if worship starts

In poorer poets’ better hearts

Ne’er risking what the word is worth

Upon this warm and tilted earth.