The idle dust of praise

warm

       Hillside, John Lyons (30 x 25 cm, oil on canvas)

The idle dust of praise

Back in the day
       through the mountains
along faded winding paths
       lined with gorse and heather
sheep on the hillside
        marauding hawks
in the air
       scavenging for fresh life

At night an ocean mist
       rolled in to smother
the dreams of those who lay
       awake in their shattered sleep
cursing the owls that counted
       down the loveless hours

So many words
       so much to do
so little done
       all vanity humbled
beneath the dying stars
       soft lullabies of pain
just to stir the idle dust
       of praise

John Lyons

Cosmic moon

Cosmic moon

In the still night
           a bright moon seen
from my window on the world
           full almost
but shrouded in mist
           and I think
what silence
           before the stars were born
what emptiness
           before the appearance of space
what an eternity
           before the first pulse of time
a lightless lovelessness
           beyond comprehension
without word or tongue
           or creed or earthly ambition
pure nothingness
           no birth
no exhumation
           no mortal lullabies of pain
no narrowing lust for gold
           no blissful palpitations
in the blood
           no dust unto a dust
to return
           no breathing grace
no thing
           no no

John Lyons