I.: “A strange terrain…”
From the deep
And desiccated
Heart
Of an immensity, daunting…
Clutched by sheer solitude
And a silence haunting,
She awakes.
In the incommensurable
Night of her desert chimera,
She peers out, trembling, into
The black void of this
Trackless Sahara.
She embarks on a desperate journey
In a soundless surround.
Within a palace of nowhere
She stumbles on, bereaved,
By crippling confusion bound.
Above, a waxen moon stares
Suspended in a luminous stance.
Below, she travels that cavernous
Wilderness, lingering in a troubled
Trance.
Searching stars, of countless cluster,
Cast a beguiling play of light.
Lurking shadows and
Lunar-glow wash,
Shape-shifting,
A ghostly white.
The diamond powder glitter,
Spread out before her dashed
And bloodied feet, make her eyes
Shimmer in false hope;
This mirage of caprice
Is complete.
Her desert is a dark season
Of the soul;
She is tormented by
A scorpion’s brood of doubt
And fear’s locust-curse control.
The blistering sun of self-contempt,
With poisoned, burning breath,
Blows sands of insecurity,
Amidst a landscape
Littered with death.
A strange terrain where
Gaunt relics
Jut out like shards
Of broken clay;
Where lowering spirits
Whisper and tempt,
While heaven’s angels delay.
In this turbulent place,
Where all fall short of grace,
Her demons she must face.
II.: “A deathly fate…”
Almost petrified from dread,
Locked in a battle within,
She hears the roar of her accusers,
The devils screaming out her sins.
Before the scorching, scraping,
Acidic assault of Hell, she senses
The slippery ***** of escape.
A specter calls to her,
With sweet and
Sultry tones,
Urging a deathly fate.
This is the final,
Baleful temptation:
The impulse to give up
And give in.
To turn her faith over to the
Fury of these fiends of
Dark desolation.
The decision weighs like a millstone,
To accept the judgment of the ******.
And, as through parched fingers,
To let her soul sift
Like burning sand.
To allow them to destroy that one,
Most precious gift --
That unalloyed beauty,
That jewel resplendent --
Her Life, the wind that
Gives her wings lift.
III.: “She fights back…”
Stripped bare and exposed to
Danger -- this vortex of distress
And focused anger -- her soul’s
Crimson sap rises to the surface,
Quickened and engaged for
Priceless purchase.
Then, a voice from inside comes as
An insurgency!
It screams desperately
And shouts with urgency!
It tells of a mission that is not yet finished;
A calling that is not complete
And bruised fortitude to replenish.
In the presence of a
Demonic challenge,
She dedicates herself to honesty and
To undimmed belief
In her God-given quality!
She makes a firm pledge
To an unflinching embrace
Of what is.
She fights back with wits and instincts.
She does not wilt from the risks but
Rears up, steeled and retributive!
All at once, the trance is broken, and the
Sadness is shattered.
Her spirit vibrates with
Power and the devils are scattered!
She now has the courage to diagnose
What is guile and what verity.
She calls forth the medicine of the
Artist’s ardor, a guide through the
Dark night to crystal clarity.
She will embrace life through art,
In all its pleasures and
All its tribulations!
The creator’s brush and palette will
Reveal the sinews of her subject’s
Aspirations.
In this way, her scars will heal.
IV.: “This torrent of fertile flame…”
Her painter’s cunning is born of
Her heart’s passion and
Her body’s absolution.
With the naked canvass
Before her, she enters
Into a ferment of transfixed
Delirium,
Expectant and open to the
Daemon of inspiration.
The visions come and they roil,
As a litany of colors form her bible.
Mysterious music summons her toil
As she sways to rhythms tribal.
And lights!
And shadows…
And glancing,
Ghostly figures
Come into view.
Her ecstasy foments
In unbridled explorations
Of contour,
Layered chaos,
With juxtaposed
Shape and hue.
In that precarious moment of creativity,
She is spiked between two poles.
Shedding sparks in raw conductivity,
She loosens her grip on the controls.
Her muse liquefies
Into a river of
Scalding fecundity and
Kinetic energy, thick with
Spiritual potency!
This torrent of fertile flame
Consumes the past, the deception,
The self-denial and the shame.
All the murky dross of doubt is purged
Until purity is all that remains.…
Pure presence,
Pure focus;
A quiet core of calm
Within the storm, surrounded by
The hurling, unruly universe.
Finally, she arrives at a place
Out of time and space,
Beyond her desert of pain.
She is self-aware and ready
To look ahead,
Unafraid.
This was written for a painter friend of mine. She got through her own desert to find her true calling and a peace that has kept her alive.