Monday, December 7, 2009
with the sticky tendrils
of this worlds web,
and you in shadows still,
fearing your imaginings,
erecting false walls and secret doors, in the land of promise
and still you tremble at the patterns, but still walk
the labyrinth while you deny the paces of your feet,
but i, clearly see your feet,
and i shake my head,
to dislodge the shadows
and your false light
allowing you false comfort, of my false belief,
and you deny yourself to me,.daughter of the god of the sea
yet speak your name daily to those in the other world
and i grow sad knowing the tragedy of this promised land
and i grow resigned to the grief
all of my making,
so i travel the tides, ride the aqua surge,
weep my loss,
weep your fear of self, weep your dread of future past.
and you tremble then fall deep
and travel the distance of stars
and i stand in the cold, waiting for faith to return,
knowing home means death
waiting for faith to renew
knowing but unable to penetrate the
vastness of your absent flesh.
and the darkness you dance in,
desperate and despairing ,
your longing, never given voice to flesh,
yet a specter posses more of you.
time flows and drains me
as i slumber through
and i long for the loss
i long for the loss of history,
and know that tides are immune from the
diseases of man,
are free of the agony of history,
and the tug of the moon, embraces only the sea, and the silver of the moon
is blind to fish in the sea and ghosts of the land,
deaf to the
terror of the flesh.
and this night drags on, 300 years
and i question the comfort of your eyes,
and the brightness of your skin.
Oisin reaches and niamh is gone, and you are there,
and my eyes tumble into the the rage of legend and
and my eyes grow cold, and brim with sorrow
and the despair of secrets.
and my feet touch the earth, my world unravels
and i weep knowing that all has past, all is gone,
and Oisin's days near there end.