New Occidental Poetry

Blades, small and still

The moonlight,
Falling fast and slow
On blades so small still tall
Paying mute tribute
To a night that kills
The worlds green,
Seems like snow;
A blanket of somber chaos
Erasing the deeply detailed monotony
Of a field forgotten
In a place in which so many stay
And wish to leave.
The naïve new York night
So near the lake named for Canada’s grace Full of nothing that pulls
The very air so fast
It stays in place
And pours the frigid nothing
On fields verdantly barren
Of what all need
And none can get
In a town named for a faraway place.

- Frederick Algernon