Liszt

Ce qu’on entend sur la montagne

azure and gentle rises
belie the truth
this is no painted landscape
no memory in pastel blues,
for beyond the forest
under the screaming skies,
that all such quests
accompany,
reality tears
clawing silica beasts
carved from nature’s flesh
to be forged as glass,
silent snarling jaws
to consume the poet’s soul
and leave him
but breathless, empty clay.