2009 -- 1.2 (Spring) Poetry

Rip in Space by Sean Springle ~ep

Rip Van Winkle finally awoke from his slumber and decided,
he may have overslept.
The world was barren, and still, like the corpse it was.
The earth, so still you could hear it groan in protest of Atlas’ absence.
Old man Rip desperately sought new prey,
his story must be told or it all would have been for nothing.
And when It All seemed lost,
he turned his tear-filled eyes to the burnt skies
and knew what must be done.
Rip followed in his descendants’ footsteps
to the suns that studded the sparkling starscape.
The path, as old as it was, was lovingly marked
with the remnants of war, death, love, and suffering.
He pressed on and bore witness to truly great things,
and their abandonment.
In the place between stars,
where light is a whisper in the symphony of the night,
there lies the Cathedral.
Engraved upon its walls was the end of mankind.
Finally surpassing the limit of existence,
their minds could reveal their true forms;
Demonic angels tearing at each other,
exposing their crimson clockwork insides,
still ticking in unison with the rhythm of righteousness.
The heavenly bodies fought till reality itself was torn asunder,
leaving a building of empty worship and a message for the likes of Rip Van Winkle:
In the end, the penitent man was weak,
and here lies his grave,
along with all his hopes and dreams.
Alas, this was the burden Rip had in abundance,
but when he spoke of his own tale,
these words of the flesh held no meaning to
creatures who personified transcendence,
and meant even less to the dead.
Laughter boomed from the bowels of the grave marker at the sight of his frustrated sobs,
and even Rip, had to appreciate that humanity never lost its sense of humor.