Thursday, August 9, 2018

To my lost lover dancing in a sunbeam:

Cynicism destroyed by fire,
light giveth the wonders of heart,
images of strength dispersed among flower petals.


Broken noises creep into my consciousness.
I sift and strain, panning with patience at the possibility,
the strain of the decades, the risks that we didn’t even consider,
that grew intractable and sought me out as a martyr,
that you could stay silent and leave me to infinite artforms
is still an expression that caresses my being.

This hope, this knowledge of what could be,
progress within autonomous individuality,
sharing ideas that keep us in some disconnected collective.


Finding drops of perfection in undeletable nature,
the information that we walk with,
we want to call it knowledge,
we want to say it is true.


Stay with me and let me hold your flame,
only until eternity leaves us on an endless wave.

Until the world of man is careful,
until we plant compassion in stable soil,
to watch the roots drive down through mantel
and into the burning core.


Why are the myths of love synonymous with the seeds of science?
Is it that we must run blindly into a vast dark cave to gain some enlightened perspective?