Ash
an angel stands and cries and falls
“this is the grace that once was mine”
she remembers the light in silvered halls
“this is the grace i left behind”
an angel kneels, broken wings surround her
“this is the place i broke my heart”
she remembers the warmth that was once around her
“this is the place we fell apart”
an angel walks, born of flame in the night
“this is the face that once said no”
she forgets her pain as her tears are dried
“this is the face that is letting go”
born out of ashes, silver and gray
an angel flies, far far away
Ash
– 06112k 07:27
For Her, Kallisti
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We write, in our misery, to justify,
to somehow soothe the disquiet of our souls.
To transfer the burden of pain over to the page,
making a scapegoat, and setting it free.
But it doesn’t really work.
The demons are not so easily tamed, controlled, exorcised.
Oh no, indeed, they are far better than that.
So we end up writing, really, because we have nothing better to do.
But can you think of something better to do?
Anything at all, to better solve the problem,
of the long dark nights?
In words we set ourselves free.
Which is why,
we write, in our misery, to justify.
Poetry
– 250201 18:58
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lost in the rivers, on their way to the sea,
going through the motions, of sweet eternity
the faithful in their temple, the praying on their knees
the dancers ever dancing, within the silent breeze
the enemy’s up in heaven, closed to all entry
the angel’s in the temple, these words she says to me:
“believe, if you must, in the rightness of the true
but, love, in its essense, these lies i offer you
believe in my words, for my actions do not speak
of the love i hold for you, and the love that i beseech
do not look to heaven, for love cannot be found
within the paths of eternity, the path to love is down”
then the angel left the temple, and thus abandoned me,
flying to another, for the love she needs to be
and the temple door lay open, without truth nor lies
and i closed it behind me, leaving my heart as sacrifice
it was midnight in the garden, in the rivers, in the sea,
going through the motions, of sweet destiny
the faithless in their temple, the crying on their knees
but the dancers never cease dancing, within the silent breeze
Midnight in the Garden, Ash, Part II
– 060501 da:wn
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