The Stone(s)

Who shall exonerate the fallen?

sapphires embedded

in the Walls of ancient History,

unspoken Time in Lore

that cannot reach the ears.

There is fury in the stone, yes,

the fiery red ruby glowing

with its perfect flare and rapture.

Life is a series

of twists into the agony of breeze,

the excruciating finale

at whose helm is the endless, solemn Song,

the last declaration, the upended Eternity.

I have become the miserable emerald,

caught between these poles

of the looping darkness and the dread

who heralds the End. But

the crests of waves

carry the dazzling Light of a billion Stars;

the wayward stern of the Crimson Ark

flashing in the Sun

I have beheld

in dreams

as strange as myself,

O solitary ruin,

O infinite rejoical, I am thine

to be celebrated—God,

I am Thine to be killed,

shattered upon the surface

and found

at the bottom of the depths

to be changed again someday,

when we have come at last unto the End,

and I am raised, and I am bled,

my glimmering green a robe,

my adornment of honesty

as fresh as the weeping globe

whose places, all, we tread,

partaking of Death,

brazen chalice of the King,

the very Essence of the Queen.