He was the twilight, Dionysius Moon.
From the spectacle of his bronze darkness,
he granted hell into my immortal home.
I was basic, but a naked oak tree in the fall
of early spring. My efforts at building lay over
my head. Lightness revealed me in happy warmth.
He covered my earth and welcomed my thoughts.
He meditated loudly to my stomach and felt me.
Together we destroyed ugliness.
It was not you, though, who destroyed the mundane.
I am despised for withholding all the boringness. Falsely
it was he who was entitled with his idolatry. He still has mine,
and with his mortal coldness he refused me death.
George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. His work has been included in such publications as the Hazmat Review, Moria Poetry Journal, Chronogram Journal, Ampersand Literary Review, the Angle at St. John Fisher College, and 3:16 Journal. George’s blogs, essays and letters have appeared in the USA Today, Wall Street Journal, the Atlantic, the Havana Times, the South China Morning Post, the Buffalo News, and more.
See all his poems on Tea House here.