Sunday, March 22, 2009

Comedy of a Rose--poem

Wrapping hands around the wind
this warped torrent falls onto dust,
no trust will build or soothe this aching heart
rise up to the sun
the light blinds the fool
my folly is my trade-laugh in it,
find joy somewhere to stand up to the day
the night grasps hard
it always seems that darkness is the victor
I lust in its mystery, its unending suspicion
eyes will well-adjust prodding fingers
above my chest into my neck-
it's hard to breathe-
some stupid black hole-
purgatory continuously reaching for heaven
or hell-some change so desired from a paradoxical stability
s fresh air can be delighted in again
I envy the Moon penetrating darkness
having its place so prestigious
could I be the glowing sphere that lights up another's dismay?
Could I be the mystery
the child of night
the woman who's growing,
waiting to bloom?
For a bud I remain in the sterile day
waiting, and waiting for this, for you
for an answer true
for some sort of a key
some gentle light
a nurturing bath-
kiss this rose
and see her as the light

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