Whoever spouts darkness
has an affinity for the Light.
Death is a resemblance,
as dusk retains the Dawn
in its resilient hatred,
like a glowering coal who dies
slow and resigned when it lets go of
what has followed it, and is thus overcome
by the sweeping abyss.
Have you known the canyon? cloaked,
in blindness clutching,
the descent as terrifying
as any taste of what's to come
should reasonably be.
It is only as one enters
into the hush and ominous promise
of the slowly warming tunnels,
approaching the great, bubbling Heart
at the centre of the Earth—
Here, it is all
a wet brow, silence, and pain:
the relinquishment of folly.
You are grown into a new man,
son, you ancient fool.
As I return into the blistering, icy World
of stranger tales, stranger tales told,
I run, I skip my way
into resilience
unfolding, a reliant individual,
firm for, in his resolve
not to sway from the Path,
though it winds and is wild
and unkind to all who pass.
So the trees form another Way,
sprouting to overlook this place,
this Pathway I walk
into the presence of the ghost of the Sun: old Moon,
you know me, I know you,
let us share in this partaking,
this duality, this Vision
rich, like a story:
a fatalist and a romantic
wed beneath the Stars,
their antagonism dissolved
in the heat and thaw of tender Light.
09/18-19/2016
Richmond