Untitled Poem

-

 I walked into the fog of a spell

avoiding it was impossible

for I was born blind (blindness the sin –

see at any cost) like all,

a fog lain over the land where we dwell:

see it too late – it covers itself.

when all becomes fog, world becomes bathed in gray

we become accustomed to limited spectrums

within our conception

what breaks our perception?

given a cure – then it's taken away

or diverts the curse into new dimension:

symbols are abstracts; the ocean is mere introspection

look inward, into the fog – fog has settled there

now you're buried in air!

and water

but not the waters of life;

you come to think you are the cause

all misery it stems from within

outwardly one bears on arm a tattoo

St. Mary the Virgin – she speaks through

symbols lift the fog in spirit

symbols are living: we, animated

frightening for man to be put in his proper place

beneath spirits but man is no monkey

collection of beating molecules eating

and moving toward nothing within black space;

a porous being with a partial soul,

man is a conduit for symbol and force,

forgetting his status he gets drunk on promise of power -

a contract to use his own;

a wretched state, to be flesh animated

by spirit and used, used, endlessly -

life really would be in one breath:

who can live such a perfect life?

I can't figure out correct configuration

and so remain unready, unstarted – it's hard

to be woman yet nobody's wife –

what is the only consolation

for our natural wretched state?

God so loved what poor man is

he gave for this intermediate being his Son.

for man's heart it can bear something

a man's heart is very hard to judge

a heart is a keeper of utmost beauty

irreplicable by anything – even angels


I walked into the spell of a fog

cast over our era – for repopulation;

they thought the fall of man befell

once again; they redo his configuration.

And if man knew who he is true

he would understand the man with the plan

he would see how he's seen: languishing in between

and most men never make themselves ready;

most are flesh best to be cast

to feed the living demands for flesh

for sacrificial pseudospiritual rites

warped-by-their-hubris interpretations;

the smartest sinners fall the hardest;

the cleverest devils are always the smartest

the most enlightened are the most frightened;

the most powerful are almost blighted;

the most amount of men are united

under their honest predilection:

unwillingness to undergo course correction -

it's not in their best interest

and who speaks this if not the soul-grain?

hope rests eternal in the word

hope is the strength to lift the boulder

hope is the break of the long-cast spell

feel the cage bars rattling

when you, a man, contact the living

symbols parading around, through, within

differentiate those in the air

and those come down

and those worn proudly on the hand of man

who aligned himself

who used his station

his mind to find ladders suspended in darkness

and be a conduit for revelation


- sometime in 2024

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