Behind the Sun

Image to support behind the sun poem by Mario Savioni

Blood on the T-Shirt that floats in the
Wind turning yellow as a signal.
Death particulates in the last sound
At recess of the heart.
An eye for an eye leads to a hollow sound and silence.
Each infraction is felt and understood
As a long descendancy in error.
Even as the clouds lift the same hopes
Beguile fate until happiness is granted.
Another day, another time this complexity
Reads of the same cyclical dream
The shirt is taken.
In the hands of a prodigy, the pages turn
In the book, the world is upside down.
So the purpose of life is travel
Down a lane that is treacherous,
“You should follow progress,” the merchant said.
Meanwhile happiness danced on sticks and
Told the children of a circus.
He saw her in the night blowing fire
And swirling flames and there it
Was, he had known love.
She spun it fast and furiously, this
Show to speak the truth of hope and
Promises.
In the night under a half-moon
Hate floated into a mist of tenderness.
Only their destinies were tied to the dry land
Until the gears stuck and the cows fell.
Then they went round by themselves
Faint by the ingrained memory of genes
And the repetitious tasks, a whole life
Of carnage.
Through cactus, under blue sky and white
Clouds, they moved toward Ventura.
You never see the end of this or do you?
And then the face comes to set you free.
In candlelight, “In this house the dead command the Living,” she said.
The beautiful spinning motion of love
Stretches further into light.
She spins for his dreams, a lover’s delight
Spinning wish-fulfilled, the inevitable
Fact of love circulates.
Changing in a voice only they can hear.
In the shadow of daylight, he cannot have
But what he feels.
There is no Ventura for the misfortunate,
All is the subtraction of fate: “One less, one less, one less”
He says of time’s monotone.
I am the servant of day’s unwanted list
A stroke of black lines over a series
Of names.
So he sets his brother to drift in the sky,
The last joy until the bullet comes to spoil
Everything.
They laugh for days as if they
Never remembered.
Joy is a holocaust that hatred promises.