Sunday, August 23, 2009

come (live inside).

Like one blind,
my home is the invisible;
I was born there.
Held, but hardly to feel
the touch, that moment
where I melt into the presence
of another, of love, ever
I melt, but I am held
by the intangible.

Water, parched and drawn
without words by its call,
sun, I shiver in winter:
down, pour it down, light and fire,
know me and hold,
hold me.

I can only hear.
All these long days
since the start, waiting for
that moment—opening up
of a small door, door I can touch
and press my hand against
till it opens,
and a light, dim, golden,
seen, and I,
held—but it’s true,
I have heard.

In my mind I’ll sing that song
around and around,
wait, whisper its words to the night,
and listen to the night
that surrounds,
so close, sing them back
to me.

Monday, August 10, 2009

a show of sentiment (perhaps inappropriate) for the waning of the last full moon.

This one I wrote for a friend. Parts are a little like the last one I posted here, simply because at the moment I'm working on (very nearly finished!) another piece, which has my head in a particular spot poetically; but I think it's nice. I meant it, anyway :)

*

All asleep; I wake, I walk,
to find you.
Servant of desire and wanderers,
forgetfulness; you pour
the icy sea
into my hands

(that cup, that momentary—)
and I drink, I spill
or thirst, and watch those
tides so silent, small,
and sleep. Forgetfulness,
desire.

Tell me how you sing!
How endlessly
you chase that road of
never to hold,

thrown in flight,
deep lake Desire;
sing the words, sweet call
we heard of old,
the ringing sound
that hides my mind,
delight.

Or feel your brilliance fade
this night,
dissolve and plunge,
climb and tumble over
all you know. The call,
that silent song

to lift your head, then wane;
that wave on wave
unending;

chase, embrace the road
(your dearest loved).
Then meet in adoration. Sing
your silent song
unending.

Swift you roam,
and I rest here beneath your glow.

Eagerness, come burn,
spill brightness so much deeper
than your own.