Post by Sheila Widdershins on Mar 16, 2007 7:56:43 GMT -1
A medieval reflection in the Moon
Visitation
Swirling pool of divination, enchanting, encumbering things
such beautiful black and orange darkness and joy,
in the middle stands her… lost as a grasshopper in the weed
and as everything was cut away one by one, dismembered—
and yet, that girl… was so happy… the wingless firefly…
her tears sprinkled the shores of consciousness,
and her smile was blinding – the sun winced in pain…
The metaphor
On a tall pillar, solid and cylindrical, hurtingly solid
stood a mortal, equal to all those pillars around her
thousands upon thousands surrounded her! an entire legion;
and some day, you’ll see the pillar crack…
crumble into the dark depths of the churning sea below
god… those painful screams… the last moment
before slipping under reality, impacting on flesh of the surreal,
here nothing is as it seems: nothing… a pair of eyes
a pair of glass bells on strings that cling to a hidden frontal lobe,
that girl surely understands the divine…
the cracking and scaly contours beneath which knowledge hides.
XI. Strength
Like a beseeching king, one of the great
Major Arcana hits the girl like a peasant in the tavern
no one denies him drunken thrills,
but still… the image persists in his mind
of a hand that is leaning on one half of a wall,
a fragile figure leans with her all…
the girl taming lions seemed to have placed her body in its maw,
and were that maw a mere supporting wall…
the night sky allows the moon to sift through dabbled silvery clouds
and illuminate the wall from the top… its massive expanse
so wide and strong… but the other side
is haggard and worn, dented from war practice,
bullets and cannons and now… moss blossoms from the
spidering web of cracks and crevices…
the wall, it’s about to give, to go…
and it will crush the owner of the little hand below.
Recreation
Out of the dark and musty tapestry, one woman
steps out and breathes… merges with the dreamstring,
and the girl becomes a medieval little Lady…
she bade her artist hordes to paint her
an image with a pool, a crystal ball, a wall and pillar
and to make the surreal etch into reality, where
each tear encases another bit of her sanity…
If she were a molecule of air substance,
she would be imprisoned by the mass of the sea…
were she any sort of pool, she’d be muddied by many feet.
The Castle
Somewhere out of 99 hidden rooms, in one there is a locked secret
it’s the one piece of confinement where no scale covers the vulnerable.
Notes are slipped noiselessly beneath the door,
unearthly shrieks answer each
with far more ferocity than the one before…
In the night only a torch pools sight onto
the hunting scene tapestry…
from which one girl is oddly missing…
behind it the door pushes open…
out steps the madwoman, maniacal laughter
non-explanatory of the of the paranoid fear in her eyes…
Contemplation
A girl in a light, confined image edged with darkness
she stares ahead unknowingly…
even the sole voices who begged her imploringly
were stubbornly unheard… because
that leaning, broken and saved girl believed in her heart
and she was burned at the stake…
but for now the moment passes, the girl walks on
and in the misty globe of crystal we follow the honey colored hair on,
her fear of the future passed through her conscious
to submerge again… but we’ve seen it all…
we’ve seen it all
happen…
March 12, 2007
Visitation
Swirling pool of divination, enchanting, encumbering things
such beautiful black and orange darkness and joy,
in the middle stands her… lost as a grasshopper in the weed
and as everything was cut away one by one, dismembered—
and yet, that girl… was so happy… the wingless firefly…
her tears sprinkled the shores of consciousness,
and her smile was blinding – the sun winced in pain…
The metaphor
On a tall pillar, solid and cylindrical, hurtingly solid
stood a mortal, equal to all those pillars around her
thousands upon thousands surrounded her! an entire legion;
and some day, you’ll see the pillar crack…
crumble into the dark depths of the churning sea below
god… those painful screams… the last moment
before slipping under reality, impacting on flesh of the surreal,
here nothing is as it seems: nothing… a pair of eyes
a pair of glass bells on strings that cling to a hidden frontal lobe,
that girl surely understands the divine…
the cracking and scaly contours beneath which knowledge hides.
XI. Strength
Like a beseeching king, one of the great
Major Arcana hits the girl like a peasant in the tavern
no one denies him drunken thrills,
but still… the image persists in his mind
of a hand that is leaning on one half of a wall,
a fragile figure leans with her all…
the girl taming lions seemed to have placed her body in its maw,
and were that maw a mere supporting wall…
the night sky allows the moon to sift through dabbled silvery clouds
and illuminate the wall from the top… its massive expanse
so wide and strong… but the other side
is haggard and worn, dented from war practice,
bullets and cannons and now… moss blossoms from the
spidering web of cracks and crevices…
the wall, it’s about to give, to go…
and it will crush the owner of the little hand below.
Recreation
Out of the dark and musty tapestry, one woman
steps out and breathes… merges with the dreamstring,
and the girl becomes a medieval little Lady…
she bade her artist hordes to paint her
an image with a pool, a crystal ball, a wall and pillar
and to make the surreal etch into reality, where
each tear encases another bit of her sanity…
If she were a molecule of air substance,
she would be imprisoned by the mass of the sea…
were she any sort of pool, she’d be muddied by many feet.
The Castle
Somewhere out of 99 hidden rooms, in one there is a locked secret
it’s the one piece of confinement where no scale covers the vulnerable.
Notes are slipped noiselessly beneath the door,
unearthly shrieks answer each
with far more ferocity than the one before…
In the night only a torch pools sight onto
the hunting scene tapestry…
from which one girl is oddly missing…
behind it the door pushes open…
out steps the madwoman, maniacal laughter
non-explanatory of the of the paranoid fear in her eyes…
Contemplation
A girl in a light, confined image edged with darkness
she stares ahead unknowingly…
even the sole voices who begged her imploringly
were stubbornly unheard… because
that leaning, broken and saved girl believed in her heart
and she was burned at the stake…
but for now the moment passes, the girl walks on
and in the misty globe of crystal we follow the honey colored hair on,
her fear of the future passed through her conscious
to submerge again… but we’ve seen it all…
we’ve seen it all
happen…
March 12, 2007
