in Val d’Enfer

in Val d’Enfer

his caverns are calling

the mistral is moaning

tortured cliffs tremble

and Dante’s Inferno

still rains

fire

 

time for young green

lured

old white is timeless

trapped

eternal red re-ignites

pits—

climbing ivy, intense

loud

on limestone walls, stoic

silent

crimson flag and roof tiles

blown

le prince’s horse, jet

black—

dovecotes honeycomb ancient

coops empty

present pigeons don’t reside but

come coo to kin

no silver knights now guard

at night

their mortal combat, dark

forgotten—

bunches of bloody poppies wink

at excited dead

and broken battlements are

bruised yellow

 

if cliffs would confide

if towers would talk

if walls would write

if ruins would remember

the colors would sing death

 

still, Dante

those blazing cedars still

twirl

squeezed olive trees still

drip

Vincent’s strokes still

scream

and a thousand

years and

colored souls still

shriek—

in Val d’Enfer

About troysherdahl

A blue-collar bohemian with a penchant for fine words and dirty jeans.
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