The Passing

The Passing

Do you think you know me
Am I the clarion call of who you are
Can you feel the lie that rests in my heart
Does it beat any less strong now that I am gone?

The pen holds a story,
Each drop of ink coagulating
Scaling and scabbing before
Your blood is dry.

There was a moment,
A flash point,
A crux.

The match once lit can burn
And bring darkness to the heretic.


Do you think you know me
Am I the prophetess of who you might be
Can you taste the infidelity that spices my lips
Does its heat burn with the bitter consequence?

The pen rests on dry paper,
The contact between fact and fiction
Suppliant and aching
For words and penance.

There was a moment,
A revelation,
An epiphany.

Delphic revelations illuminate truth
And bring persecution to the believer.



Do you think you know me
Am I Pandora opening your box of despair
Can you hear the cries of your abandonment
Does the sound mask your hidden hope?

The pen traces a thought,
Letters creating labyrinthine messages
Without Ariadne’s golden thread
To translate Theseus’ tragedy.

There was a moment,
A black sail,
An acquiescence.

Victory and defeat balance the scales
And give no justice to those left behind.



Do you think you know me
Am I the fifth rider who shadows death
Can you smell the decomposition and decay
Does your surrender bring swift finality to your life?

The pen gives up its truth,
Clawing, scratching, across boundaries
Etching into imagined elegies
Monuments of date and place.

There was a moment,
A sarcophagus,
An Ivory mausoleum.

Love brooks no permanence
We are all left to die alone.


Do you think you know me
Am I the longing that salts the Dead Sea
Can you see my Gospel and Testament
Does my Word bring darkness in your cave?

The pen is only mighty for the writer,
It rests aimless with empty hands
Teaching no parables
Revealing no sacred truths.


There was a moment,
An Essene,
A Pharisee.

My words are hidden in the desert
Discovered by an infidel’s transgression.


Do you think you know me
Am I the cold body swinging from the rope
Can you see the scars and the burns
Does my self sacrifice appease the gods?

The pen tells you why,
Sharing the guilt and the innocence
Searing my deception across pages
To be read by the survivors.

There was a moment,
A final breath,
A emphatic goodbye.

The rattle of death walks a razor’s edge
Cutting the breath of life in its sharpness.


Do you think you know me
Am I who you think I might be
Can you deliver me from who I have become
Does your life mean less because I am gone?

My pen is fallen,
Its ink has dried and disappeared
I have nothing to write
Nothing to say.

There was a moment you knew me,
A lover,
A friend.

Turn the other way and walk
Make your pilgrimage without me.


Do you think you know me?
I don’t even know myself.