I.
It was a bold appropriation after wandering
in exile for so many years sundering— the world
shaken to whiteness by contention.
His were the only palms to grace upward,
hers to the chasm:
When the rusted anchors fell,
she alone was angered and effaced
by the shadow of fire.
The origins of the wound were not clear.
The terror of infinity ran through her veins.
It was a matter of letting go,
letting the stage be bare,
her spirit battered against the rocks of circumstances—
a weed of misery among uncertainty.
Her life, her blood, tinctured in the air of vagueness,
called out against the banal in sonorous defiance:
“I shall write my own epitaph!”
I— the Luminous Ray
Salute the Irises of verdant May
All glory is the brilliant dawn
This, she thought, was her path,
though her true remittal lay elsewhere
under the weeping stars.
II.
The vestige of summer wailed its final baptism.
A mirror appeared as a frosted pane
in the equinox of contradictions:
Beauty is deciduous.
Divinity is pain.
She walked among liars,
her feet bleeding among the larvae of dead hopes.
Love must be fierce to walk on this pumice.
But her heart was torn alive.
Oblivion circled high above in the blue September air
as she hugged the entrails of her empathy.
Malevolent halves created the labyrinth—
a carousel of annihilation christening the graveyards
bereft of human heat.
Mine is the trough of stars.
Mine is the middle between the paths.
Mine dethrones the barbed passions.
Mine are the aerials that summon prayer.
“It is been too long— I am going home.”
III.
These were the implements—
the hands on a course of discovery,
the attenuation of simplicity,
bohemian disdain for soulless alienation
and violent dismantling,
a reckoning of ethos.
Time was everywhere,
coughing up spectral blood unapologetically.
The subversive spirit released from its conundrum cage
to venture further along— intentions thwarted.
This is the middle of uncertainty—
too much to even think about.
“Must everything be in precise order?
What is owed here?”
Clarity, simplicity, transparency,
purification, immediacy, emergence,
stillness, presence, balancing the ledger.
What is divided must be reunited.
To gain access to what really matters
in a new scale of values. Not waiting
for the wheel to turn full circle.
IV.
The milling air brought a numbing kiss
to her feet as she tread over
the red stream of inert stone.
“There’s so much evidence of invisible things—
I, the pinprick of Souls Innumerable.”
And then she felt the happiness of the Ancient Hand
who pulled the strings of the rainbow
as his hunting bow.
And she thought “What He thinks must exist,"
as his luminous arrow shot like razor light
through a maze of blue sky.
It was then she heard His voice,
the cause of clouds that rang high above her.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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wow what a storm of thought and Blakeist type rolling imagery! truly a treasure to read dear sir... and one does *bow* in times like these unions truly..
w an umbrella of respect
-Jas
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Beautiful Work ...
I simply loved every word. Thank you, Jaden.
Love
Myra
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as she hugged the entrails of her empathy.
well that line was cool...
but the whole thing sounds like something I wrote a long time ago...
keeping hope alive
and in keeping the tradition alive...
honestly,
keep up the good work
and some questions... is it a few different works or is it the completion of hours of work all at once...
anyway... Loved it... always do...
you are one of my favorites...
Doug -
Loved the whole first stanza. Phonetically speaking, it was very pleasing on the ears. I just love that.
The rawness of the second stanza was also a nice touch.
Of course, then again, if I start stating what I like I'm afraid I would be putting it all in here. This is truly a beautiful piece. I will have to book mark this.
I love it. Beautifully executed and one of the best pieces I've ever seen out of you. (please take a bow)
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This is a masterful penning, Jaden. It's always a pleasure to see a new posting from you, Scribe. There are many profound thoughts to be garnered beneath the wings of this mighty piece. Beautifully done, my Friend. 
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