Liberian Literary Magazine
Promoting Liberian Literature, Arts and Culture
Poetry Section
‘Twas Brillig
Richard Wilson Moss
Colossus
Shivering alone above a
thin starched sheet
My eyes candle wax red
My arms and legs iconic
meat.
Silently in coldness and
madness
I call for quiet
I speak but say nothing
more than what is said
By apostles surrounding my
bed.
Interred like wild primrose
Surrounded by red flame
ivy
So innocent is the climb of
this vine
And so vain.
Destructive rain
That ruins the rose
Invigorates unbelabored growth
Of this green rioting vine
ungodly reaching
To choke the sun itself.
Interred in this building
built
Of concrete and painted
sheet rock
Imitating oak
It is I the architect would
choke
The uncommitted clay
Attempting to close the
jammed window
Held open by that great
green arm
That would crack open
graves
To strangle the dead.
But I am Colossus
Put in the crazy house
One voids his bowels
Another pretends to
nibble at yesterday's
pretzel.
They sleep as kittens sleep
Curled fur forgiven
undisciplined claws.
I am Colossus
Straddling a headboard
Straining to close that
portal
To keep growth of
conquest
From reaching in.
Helios would have that
which would perish
Helios would tear itself
apart
To reach in and pull out
The secret nights of all
bright days.
Cast in bronze plate
concealing granite bone
One foot on the window
sill
The other on a military
mattress
My heart is not my own
My head, stone.
Inmates snore below
beyond reach
One sits up and softly
howls
50
There are greetings and
then there are calls
For sanity among the
insane
I call out that we will not
be slain
Kept free from the deadly
grip
Of the ascending vine.
I call out
I am providence
Indecent and divine
I am Colossus
Closing the window.
PHYSICS