Pt. Cyclops

Tyrone Graham
Aug 9, 2017 · 1 min read

A light finger
of funneled extroversion
flickers ’midst flutter
of straining eyes
red-rimmed — revolves
in constant, continuous,
ceaseless sweep
sleepless: seeking:
searching, ere for survivors,
storm-swathed ships
— in danger imminent
of being swept aside,
sundered, swallowed,
pulled under — ’tween
mountainous waves;
mammoth, menacing,
monstrous monarchs
of primeval realm
— steep swell, deepening
well; poised for knell,
to take toll, polling prospects
that would shelter take —
flee to leeward;
run for refuge;
harboring hopes
of haven, closeting cove;
beeline for barricades
behind breakers, bastions:
if only headway
through blind faith
— potential prey
to submerged, shifting
sandbar and shoal,
rugged rock, reef, atoll;
winds’ whims’ victims,
even, captive to current
caper capricious —
while Cyclops cone
answers, in its fashion,
fervent prayer.

Other Voices

A sanctuary for orphaned poems and prose.

Tyrone Graham

Written by

In the beginning was the word. And I got paid for it.

Other Voices

A sanctuary for orphaned poems and prose.

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