(A poem in 4 parts, including two sonnets, about some of the catastrophic incidents and accidents life can throw at us)
Date written: 04/07/2008
I
Half-close my eyes, perhaps I'll dream it never happened; allow it to blur or fade away nothing is certain anyway Let recollections fold into themselves in cold suspension, between the ceiling and the floor enter the entities the dreamer can't avoid.
Black splinters rain down shards of pain in jagged patterns; turning the spectrum into grey stirring the id to go astray wakening demons of the nether realms and dark dimensions. Nothing is certain any more; save for the spectre of a gaping, empty void.
II
In days before the sundering of dreams Such power was encompassed by these hands Laughter of water sounded through the streams Forces of nature answered my commands.
In days before order was stripped away Lightning could issue from these fingertips Turning the blackest night to brightest day Burning the tallest tree to smoking strips.
Bright stars beheld within the oval ring Like tiny faces in a deep black pool Became my oracles for everything Each constellation held an ancient rule.
Now, in the aching wondering of why, A million pieces craze my tortured sky.
III
So far away, so long ago foregone, Such restless days, while otherwise content. Nothing was ever finite, time went on; Infinities of summers came and went.
A million pieces of eternity Go spinning to the outer stratasphere, One wormhole into bleak catastrophe - I'm watching my reflection disappear.
I asked the night "Where did the magic go?" But nothing more than silence was returned. With only three dimensions, who would know Whether the other five slumbered or burned?
For time will swallow all the universe And change will ever be the future's curse.
IV
What was the colour of the last of all the missing pieces? The one that fell between the space between some present and past place out of a glass where I had darkly gazed for divination? I thought I held it in my hand but it eluded me, like some forgotten dream.
Where is the portal of the world where my forsaken peace is? Like someone's name I cannot place or like a half-remembered face, where is the key that once my fingers traced in adulation? Now it recedes away like sand, like my mortality, into a black hole's seam.