Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Sydney Carton

The jackal has shed his skin--
or skinned himself.

His spirit, always dwindling,
now shudders, finally alive, in the brisk of the morning--
blossoming from the headless corpse.

The golden horizon
gleams in his hindsight
a thin line of beauty, of divinity;
separating the ground from the sky.

The sunrise approaches-- O!--
and he goes.

She will smile, someday, far away from this time.
And her hesitant sunshine will engulf the Earth,
left in the hands of his mirror image.


  1. That was very striking and very beautiful!

  2. Wow. Incredible poem. I love Sydney Carton. This was splendid.
    (I came here by way of Dickensblog [].)

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