On Being

Through silence the tide rectifies the sea —
A perfect unfathomable division,
A rising of burning trees.
From the red shadows of rivers,
And the tattered banks of mud,
Spring sleeping sapphires and fish
Like manacled stars lit by remembrance —
Troubling the reaches of lucidity, tangible and illusive,
Bound by imposed limitlessness,
Drifting freely without hope, as a veil
That clothed a secret is thrown over an abyss.

Terrifying contentment is realised
In an instance without sound and parameter,
The descent spirals and sparkles with madness and love,
In dust there is turmoil and creation,
Knotted roots are eternal and transient,
From darkness, flowers detachment,
Time is a vessel that never leaves and always returns unseen.

The fall fractures within the circle.
Many roads are inverted without reason —
We are the ground upon which the paths tread,
In all directions, like a hollow sound;
We are the stars that celebrate the weightlessness of hummingbirds —
Connected, sheltered by totality, unburdened of repetition;
In the rose garden, we are the leaf that clings to a demented branch
That trembles in the wind.

© 2016 Occasional Dreams
Image: Milky Way through the Grant Grove by Justin Kern / CC BY


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