Windows wash away the pain
And the Dust settles
And my Gods lay their hands
Onto my sunken shoulders
And say: “My son, my son.”
And like the letters
That fade away
At the end of bent pages,
These eyes begin to close
And this chapter finds its end.
This is not the answer nor should it be left misunderstood
Gods carefully listened but none took action
Forgotten and dead lay the bushel of corn
Raspy, hoarse, brown
Thickening day lay low
And Divine Interpretation was a plan that could not be laid
For dead leaves had fallen and no new growth was expected
Until the decaying layers of slumber departed
Swift onset of thaw set in for another season under her breast.
Fires woke and excited the beast
Roaring in a blaze.
Night curling around dark poles
Eyes intently gazed.
Lips so pure; an Angel descended
Lightly touching down
Afraid of nothing, no need to be
As day broke all around.
Visions of a playful glen
Peaceful animals, babbling stream
Walking with a certain gait
Midsummer’s healthiest dream.
It was not my claim,
Not could it ever have been
To be lost with controlled madness
On a motorcycle
Going fifty kilometers per hour.
The roads were too dusty,
Too quiet for forgiveness
To be called out
In a manner that did not support
Each dying ember of humanity.
And the glasses were of the new world,
A signal for misunderstanding
– Modern mythological errors
Combed with a brush of the future.
I merely sat there,
I did not dust off the seat
I did not wear deceiving clothes
I did not paint my hair black
Or red or green or blue,
And my wings ever grew
Until I no longer sat alone
Accompanied by history untold
That whispered flickers
Of a language with no words
To my clouded eyes
Can one day your abundance touch me?
Truth like lightening bolts
Thrown from Zeus himself.
And my eyes shall see openings
From whence your sail shall catch wind,
Pulling me towards ancient speed
Roaring in fierce aftermath
Abundantly striking me free.
I shall not turn my eye,
Though wrath of the God shall torture me
For it is in his kingdom
You shall dare set me free.
And in my deepest of layers
– Of which only then permit me sight,
It has always been mine blindness –
Call on me to share.
Read me like I am all here,
Nor leave me without all signs.
There I sit in mine throne
Stretched in abundance and call,
Laid bare as shown Virgil
And my heart reigned for thy lightening bolt
Sight into thine eyes.