Le Soleil

by J H Martin

My past is left

The future right

Ever moving

As it retreats

Bound for unreal destinations

Of the whitest vanity

Aboard an unbridled horse

Both saddled with a bareback fire

And reared by

The flicking whip of these desires

Red as crosses

Stiff as staves

Buried as my secrets are

And filled in by this mind

Of stunted adolescent growth

A naked taller sunflower child

My head is bent

My eyes forever tilted upwards

Not at the silent wisdom

Of the moon or sun

But at some intangible and empty space

Of endless impossibility

A clime that’s painted

Not in the most verdant green

But in the most foolish gold

Where all that has once been said

And all that has once been done

Cannot be trampled underfoot or cleared

By this illuminated

And yet dim intelligence

Which only pales

And then like a baby screams

At the blindness

Of its own self made fortune

When this horse and true night falls

Over and over and over again


J H Martin is from London, England, but has no fixed abode. His writing has appeared in a number of places in Asia, Europe and the Americas.

Website: acoatforamonkey.wordpress.com 
Instagram: @acoatforamonkey