The Rise of the Ashen Lord Lord above, who orbits us while in ever repeating bliss, Give us our daily hit. Deliver us unto the haze from which shall we never truly awaken. Shake forth the thunderous religion that shapes our method And changes: everything has changed. Be kind to us on Sundays and Thursday's child. Lead us by the nose to the African night flight that will slowly dry us And cracked delivering disease and famine across All the blistering globe that thy watch over, Ever thoughtful, ponderous and wondering, with burning eye. Be with us, Lord, when we wither. Watch us flake into dust drawn away by the eternal winds. Are you crying for us now, Lord? For those tears will be lost in the depths of nothingness Just like your blackened presence. Until then, Oh, Lord, we will wait For the bliss you promised us.
David Bowie, English singer-songwriter and actor, was born today in 1947.
Poetry 365 