There are no numbers to the days,
or the words i have written.
Life cannot be contained by
something so linear.
Life is more like a word -
or a gesture -
But certainly not a clock,
represented by digits -
fleeting and repeating...
No, life is more like a dance.
with a partner who
gazes deeply upon you,
and moves you
in ways you could have never imagined.
Only to vanish -
Strange - even in terror, paranoia
whose darting eyes don't find
solid ground, whose eyes don't know
what's real, unreal,
even in terror confronting centerless space,
terror clutching at memories of loved ones,
loved ones who feel like dreams -
even in terror,
On the other side of these,
just a snap of the fingers away
is the Unborn Undying
Strange - hell itself
seen through thickest distortion,
My naked intensity
warped through thickest distortion.
The heaven of heavens
is a sliver
of clarity away
Strange - there's another distortion
that comes with too much
of the linear,
that prides itself
on being well grounded
the material world
the real world.
Strange, as it happens,
is a distortion
closer to My heart
than the sober kind
A thick whiteness emerges from the night,
In the garden the blackbirds quarrel
But the fog stifles the noise
And garnishes the trees with pearls.
In the sky, the sun is a pale and cold white disc.
On the hill, the frost, son of Winter,
Bloomed the grass with thousand diamants;
Everything seems still and nothing seems to live.
However, above the silence, a small river
Makes music for whoever wants to listen to it
And forms with the wind a perfect orchestra .
It's a fantastic symphony !
By their chords, they play the cold,
The chills, the frosts, the winter and its attendant pains,
Also the evenings by the fireside, the breath of wind ...
Yes, but for children, the snowman !
I could write about how the body clenched as a fist and gave birth to pain
how reality fractured into tesserae and stayed as a picture when the walls were crumbled
how my fingertips bled as I touched it tenderly
as you made a mosaic of my life
how even though I dug in the fertile earth, and nurtured the summer flowers
I can never find you again
and when the sharp stone hit the windscreen
how I shattered, and shattered,
fracturing as mourning ice underfoot
how I saw your dancing star fall and fall
across the cold high starscape
until sunrise lit the high new leaves and hid it from my sight forever