{"id":120,"date":"2011-04-12T19:02:53","date_gmt":"2011-04-12T19:02:53","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/localhost:8080\/wordpress\/?p=120"},"modified":"2015-05-17T01:23:16","modified_gmt":"2015-05-17T01:23:16","slug":"end-of-the-period","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/oderickson.com\/ode\/end-of-the-period\/","title":{"rendered":"End of the Period"},"content":{"rendered":"<audio class=\"wp-audio-shortcode\" id=\"audio-120-1\" preload=\"none\" style=\"width: 100%;\" controls=\"controls\"><source type=\"audio\/mpeg\" src=\"https:\/\/oderickson.com\/ode\/wp-content\/audio\/EndOfThePeriodVx3.mp3?_=1\" \/><a href=\"https:\/\/oderickson.com\/ode\/wp-content\/audio\/EndOfThePeriodVx3.mp3\">https:\/\/oderickson.com\/ode\/wp-content\/audio\/EndOfThePeriodVx3.mp3<\/a><\/audio>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>I.<\/p>\n<p>Door swing<br \/>\ngun roar<br \/>\nsound of swaying feet<br \/>\nthrough the floor.<br \/>\nThe pigeons<br \/>\nthat once wandered in the square<br \/>\nare nowhere,<br \/>\nhave fled back to their wilderness retreat.<br \/>\nOnly a child is in the square.<br \/>\nI can see her though the house shakes.<\/p>\n<p>I heard once<br \/>\nswinging down-lane on the way to school<br \/>\nbirds open in the square;<br \/>\nthe sun shone down the blades<br \/>\nthrough the dark of my back<br \/>\nand the world seemed about to create,<br \/>\nyou know?<br \/>\nAs if beginning again,<br \/>\nthen, towards evening,<br \/>\nclimbing the stair,<br \/>\ninto my quiet room,<br \/>\na\u00a0loneliness was there.<\/p>\n<p>I would take my train,<br \/>\nand run it down the tracks,<br \/>\ninto nowhere, into the wildwood,<br \/>\nbut safe from uncontained attacks.<\/p>\n<p>I would leap ravines<br \/>\nand storm a bridge, with infinite ramparts behind,<br \/>\nonly that moment alive,<br \/>\nand no thought in my mind.<\/p>\n<p>But I would go to bed an evening when it rained<br \/>\npatterns like the raising of the dead<br \/>\nand all the things remembered that I said.<\/p>\n<p>And when the sun shone into my room,<br \/>\ndeepening terror growing through the gloom;<br \/>\nO God was love and toil,<br \/>\nthe point which smiled,<br \/>\nand pity grew and cried,<br \/>\nand my child, this one,<br \/>\nfound the sun was doom<br \/>\npast which no one sailed<br \/>\nnor one which could carry<br \/>\nbeyond the bounds of him.<\/p>\n<p>II.<\/p>\n<p>The town has fallen, must have fallen down,<br \/>\nsince in the room is no sound.<br \/>\nOnly a little.<br \/>\ncan you move?<br \/>\nIt is dark though the streets shine<br \/>\nin broken moonlight;<br \/>\nclimbs above the chimney pots,<br \/>\nabove the dead.<\/p>\n<p>Mist and sun.<br \/>\nMarble arch and carved door<br \/>\ninto which we blend<br \/>\nwith evening mist<br \/>\ndescending from the sun<br \/>\n\u2026 You stood so long and pure.<br \/>\nmy heart shone like the moon<br \/>\ntranscendent in a pool<br \/>\nwhere light is an echo of your farthest thought.<br \/>\nFrom where did you come<br \/>\nto stand like the moon descended by my door?<\/p>\n<p>Why are you here<br \/>\nangel with the white eyes?<br \/>\nThe world is dead outside<br \/>\nthe trees are still,<br \/>\ncannot move.<\/p>\n<p>Throbs and throb my wrist,<br \/>\nheart pushing its life into<br \/>\nthe drain outside.<br \/>\nMy head is tired,<br \/>\nwould sleep.<\/p>\n<p>Afterwards she came again.<br \/>\nHow hard the stones upon our feet!<br \/>\nLater, in a drunken mood, I thought of that.<br \/>\nShe never came again.<br \/>\nHer eyes like the sunbeams<br \/>\nin which two worlds meet:<br \/>\nthey cry with joy,<br \/>\nthey play, as it were, by the seaside<br \/>\nwithout thought<br \/>\nor mind<br \/>\nMindless the echoes that roll<br \/>\nLike waves rolling on the beach<br \/>\nBursting in white fragments out of reach.<\/p>\n<p>III.<\/p>\n<p>In the square was a torn child.<br \/>\nAnd in myself the thought of day awoke again;<br \/>\nbut it was only a glimmer in the eye,<br \/>\na\u00a0dead secret in the wind,<br \/>\nin the mountain\u2019s arms,<br \/>\nand in the room<br \/>\nsunlight on the floor.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>https:\/\/oderickson.com\/ode\/wp-content\/audio\/EndOfThePeriodVx3.mp3 &nbsp; I. Door swing gun roar sound of swaying feet through the floor. The pigeons that once wandered in the square are nowhere, have fled back to their wilderness retreat. Only a child is in the square. I can see her though the house shakes. I heard once swinging down-lane on the way to [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":5,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[11],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-120","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-warandpeace"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/oderickson.com\/ode\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/120","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/oderickson.com\/ode\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/oderickson.com\/ode\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/oderickson.com\/ode\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/5"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/oderickson.com\/ode\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=120"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/oderickson.com\/ode\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/120\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1863,"href":"https:\/\/oderickson.com\/ode\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/120\/revisions\/1863"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/oderickson.com\/ode\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=120"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/oderickson.com\/ode\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=120"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/oderickson.com\/ode\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=120"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}