Welcome to Volume 22 of Quickwords, my very own poetry series! The theme today is ‘Little Golems’.
| Air in |
| Clay countenance before kindling flame Made hollow, even in the slightest It gazes at the fire it knows will end its journey Molded in earnest effort to some semblance of humanity Built to be a part of that world Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes in creation They leave holes in the heart Air in me, Aaron, me We lit the stove of life But oh how heat makes this little golem explode |
| Automaton |
| It’s an artisan’s job to shine the automata Yet I hold autonomy to a degree of this thermometer in my heart How am I to polish myself with a cloth that to me seems a curtain to the future? I scan technique, analysis paralysis Afraid my muscles will memorize the wrong path, I stay still Make like marionette But the artisan forgets about the little robots who don’t realize themselves |
| Little Golems of the Forest |
| Little golems march this forest If you wish to chop a tree, you best have an acorn To fill the place they’d happily make your grave Little golems, to whom the fae bid hullo They hear words in the beasts’ growls And make sense of what the leaves whisper in the wind If you wish to walk these woods You best keep open three eyes, three ears, three fears Because everyone’s got a few, but they only ask for three Little golems only our shamans have seen They’ll eat your truth and spit your lies with ichor tipped tongues What you promise the grass you tread Tells them what they need to know Little golems who start wildfires And dance to sooth the seeds they bury in the ashes They burn only what has reached its time One never knows till the forest speaks |
