Read Poem: The Seer on the Edge, by Daude Teel

Famed Soeril, knife-eared, sable-skinned,
a statue when standing still, staring
over the horizon. Black clothed, robed
in cotton, do you stand there always?
Always, do you stand staring over this
field of wilted flowers?
The brutal lounge like clouds,
pitiful in their fervor, lily-colored,
foam-colored, never brown like the sun.
Sweet Soeril, sable-skinned, why those tears?
Is’t for the world? What has happened
to the world? The wicked rule,
but they always have. The virtuous
are afraid of the light, and the colorless
fear the night, so they sing only when
the moon has bloomed and gray
stars drip upon their tombs
of gold. Is that why you stand still,
staring over the horizon, into a field of
dove-dug holes, each holding a portion
of Hell? Will they hold me, I wonder?
Ó Soeril, will they hold me
like a carrion in a water well?

Author: poetryfest

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