The Horizon
William Blake saw angels in his garden.
Nietzsche embraced a horse.
Sophocles reached for his cup;
Daniel Boone just kept moving west.
The ruts are still visible, irresistibly straight;
Those sunken cables stretching to the horizon,
Which itself lies long and lonely crosswise,
A landing pad of sorts for travelers.
Backlit at intervals; it celebrates transitions
And then hides itself in darkness waiting,
Waiting for light, and you - as you journey
Westward, always westward.
Nietzsche embraced a horse.
Sophocles reached for his cup;
Daniel Boone just kept moving west.
The ruts are still visible, irresistibly straight;
Those sunken cables stretching to the horizon,
Which itself lies long and lonely crosswise,
A landing pad of sorts for travelers.
Backlit at intervals; it celebrates transitions
And then hides itself in darkness waiting,
Waiting for light, and you - as you journey
Westward, always westward.
---- Big Frank Dickinson
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