golden
I've been
purified by fire;
washed and
scoured by raging rain;
buffeted
hither and yon by
winds of
changing fortune.
Never safely
planted to grow strong roots
that hold me
close and whisper
soothing
lullabies.
I have
suffered all, not gladly,
but
fortuitously.
I have
survived, have imbibed
the luscious
nectar of hard found
fruits,
endured trials
testing every
aspect of integrity,
grown in
wisdom and honour
and lack of
trust
for any who
have never dwelled
in these
wicked realms.
No one may
know these travails but I and
the holy trio
who
underwrite my
progress.
No matter.
We are, my
traveling band:
inspiration,
organization
and sacred
core of self-empowerment
forge intimate
family
I have always
so desperately
craved.
I am blessed,
blissed.
I am that I am
and none
shall cast
asunder.
Expectation
Fall into whispered
memory,
the best of scenes in
dreams, in ether.
No time left for
hope.
It's do or die
unsung.
One scene at a
time.
Busy
weaving
click, click, click,
click
Moving, breathing, in
the rhythm,
straight
ahead.
Never glancing past
the engine
that entrains,
chugging
brain engaged by
current of song,
encouraging
movement
on cue, on time, in
serial rhyme.
This surreal
fantasy
weaving,
weaving...
Always on the
threshold.
Never really
anywhere.
On the road from here
to there.
Expecting.
Not
accepting.
In motion, like a
trance, without a goal.
Expecting what? A
fortune to be
told? A jaunty
rainbow?
The miracle of
love?
navigation
Stalling at the
crossroad,
on the
threshold,
unsure of correct
direction.
Whose
reflection
calls to
follow?
The Moon, she
shines
brightly, suffuses
sky,
so hard and cold and
unaware.
Where is my soft strong
melody?
Where is that voice,
sonorous glee,
tug of eerily familiar
tune?
Running through umbra of
night,
hoping to surface, wild and
free.
Yet, as Sunrise obscures
my vision,
sense recedes. Lost,
treading
miles of exhaust and
grease.
Chain fast food, car shops
and fuel, infest
this secondary
road.
No wavery door marked by
ornate
gargoyle knocker
shows.
I reach for higher
substance, better trance.
Mystic keys, clues to
advance vast scavenger hunt,
peek discreetly along arid,
apocalyptic trail.
When each clicks into
place,
a lock will
open.
If I am wise, I will
arise,
walk the
circle,
traverse the
threshold,
up the
stairway,
home at last.
emerging visions
MOVING FROM THE
VISIONARY'S IMAGINATION INTO VIEW THAT ALL OF US MAY LEARN TO SEE
FURTHER
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