The Experiences of Gustav

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, February 1, 2015 Under: Rhymed Verses
He surveyed the subcultures of the dark in the open, vast floating drafts
Avoiding the train tracks - they ain't safe paths - just omens of the broken past
He made headway on a dead day through segues of old ocean paths
through canyons where bandits used to tote their cloaks & boast of hope at last
He owned a mask, and a winter coat to guard him from the cold, frosty villages
Singing songs of Gilgamesh to help him endure this hostile wilderness
Wanderers still exist - misnomer to an impromptu, improper cosmic syllabus
He carried Walden in his chilling fists and Van Helsing in his lustless, bluish eyes
He had the broadest killing lists, his sniper rifle scoping foggy images
Each loyal bullet in the chamber offered trust that few provide...
Formerly a secret operative of the Russian, super kind; a touch dehumanized
A numb recluse who'd covet doom as runic blood consumed the skies
It was sunset soon - he tunneled through the mines, down that winding rock
Old world war pillboxes served as the location for his nightly stops
His shadow reflected against the chrysanthemum wall from the fire he started
Rubbed his hands together, and thought about the Arctic wild he'd charted
All the mountainous regions he'd crossed - and in the name of what?
Had he found home at last, as a nomad? Or perhaps the game was up
He made his way through the dilapidated thrush (with captioned sayings shut)
Wordless breaths submerged them self in the unknown forests...
which seem to be a thing of the past, it shouldn't be though -
Gustav sought out the reality of nature, a landscape which cruelness composed
where it was so frigid he had to wear bits of wool up his nose
He was a cross between a novel breed of Robin Hood and Thoreau
The embodiment of desolation becoming self discovery,
with every deliberate imprint of his foot in the snow -
The crooks of the knoll; the decayed, yet intertwined brooks of the soul
There was a woodland chateau so frozen it was like an icy coffin
He settled for remote outposts, slightly exhausted with this microcosm
Not knowing where the taiga tossed him

Men shoot projectiles into space
Toward orbs of promise light years afar
Sharpshooters who seldom spread life elsewhere; titans of war

Gustav put himself in the loneliest place
Beyond stalagmite riddled caves, and Soviet ordinance opiate lakes
Familiarize yourself with the Earth before you go into space...
or it may devour your compartments and engulf you with haste

In : Rhymed Verses 



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