- Mar 1, 2009I was rather astonished to receive this poem from a good friend
yesterday. The astonishment was because the theme so closely matches
some of the themes here in the group lately.
it dreams in sleep, closed eyes rolling
behind eyelidsit knows no justice,
no love or blind illusions, it sees only hearts
beating softly across long fields without end.
it knows no boundaries, there is nowhere
it ends, there is nowhereit begins,
undulating, rolling like mossy rocky hills,
these mysteries hiding from sight,
always at the corners of our eyes,
beckoning us to follow them, to play
new games with them, to hold new rings
for them. these blues, these eyes
each stone each morsel of heart,
each beating, pounding moment,
i would sign my name in blood
for your torment to end. i would spin
my world into muck, watch as we wash
ourselves into some endless vacuum
into the holy temple of fire.
in dreams, in sleep, closed eyes rolling
behind those lashes, the whip strikes flesh,
smoke billows from fires and covers cave walls.
i remember this life. i remember all the lives
that ever came before. the veneer is crackled
and spun into melted threads of silver,
slivers of gauzy wing material, flesh and metal
mixing within each other. your bowl
made of flesh, this vessel made of loyalty
i came to conquer, watching softly, steadily
the easing of pain comes in and i think
i think there is nothing else to think.
flowers grow where you step,
flowers sprout from the earth
and scent the air with spices,
cinnamon, nutmeg, vanilla, passion.
i, holding my hand, i standing alone
on this magnificent shore, jagged stones
stab the sky as waves cleave themselves
on their crowns, eddies whirl and jostle
flotsam and foam, the sea is a lover
a pearl lodged in my heart that won't be removed,
look yondera gull coming to wrap its wings
around my neck, look further, a flock of them
wrapping themselves around my neck.
i would like to tell a story, but i can no longer speak.
i would like to cry a lullaby, but i am too weak.
i stand upon the shoulders, the palaces fall
to the ground, this dust and rubble, this mess of nerves
each thing falling from one form to the next.
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