The Depth in a tear
Goes out like a shattered cry in a hailing winter blizzard
Man...sometimes seems not to know
The carrier pigeon of the woman's role between God and Man.
My fire was snuffed out to a simmering ember many a winter ago...
My ancestry lost, in the abandoned history of broken hearts and incarnation's egoic slide
Music would tell the slights and chasms of every crack like stretching strings and scratching ironies.
It would reveal our every philosophy
And all our moral dilemmas
Before going on into the abyss
To only produce on...
And on.
We are such a fervent and fiery death, and we blaze on forwards, into a ceaseless end
In the night sky
And promises
That something will continue on,
In our dying and raging glory.
Little did I know,
The storm would hold me-
Hold me like a blanket of white I'd never had the privilege of prevailing in.
I froze, hibernating fast
To the shock of the cold
That would take over my life.
My ember contained; a small orange ruminating on the inside- kept away
From all pain; everything dark.
I promised myself I would not die today.
That I would not give up on my life,
Or my dream...or the things that lean me to tick, even if restlessly.
It is a shattered windpipe, but not a goated breath.
It is a broken globe of a dream, but a reality that lies in the wake.
And winter's blizzard
The life and death of it all.
Violins scathe as the winds beat the red out of once a cold brow.
Now,
There is just defeat...
And the rebirth of the next life.
In the distance, I hear the angels haunting sermons of hymns. The torrent howls...
And I am marching home.
A wolf now...
to a sea of white sand, and paw prints
Heading under a moon.
We can't hear them all the time...
But when we do...
We must stop
And breathe the midnight air.
Howl. Run home.
And leave the winter behind us,
Til once, we must,
Meet again.
A running home.
A running from.
A deep and sincere psychology
So, so sacred.
So...forever overlooked.
The ember, is the woman's soul. The wolf, her transport. The Blizzard, is everything else.
It is man, and life, and God.
It is timing, and death.
It is synchronization
With chaos.
I am ruminating.
And all else,
Rages against me.
Even the silent stillness
Is a dissonance.
The dilemma is life.
The storm is the music and the chaos.
It is the love.
It is the gestation of all that is willed out of our understanding.
It is,
Forced surrender.
Death, for life. For the hope of something beyond all this. It is a chance.
A chance that we continue
To burn on...
