Wednesday, June 08, 2005

What Words The Heart Speaks:

A Ghazal

The living engine inside, this love
The hot, bright, Eden's flame, this love

All dark purity unbound and given
wing to circle above us nightly, this love

Only the one game beyond mercy
and the rule of law, this love

Only the sacred horror we despise,
call for, send away, and regret again, this love

All the marbles collected and put in
holed pockets to fall as we march, this love

The dying comfort exhaled upon
the morning's icy bosom, this love.

3 comments:

Bill said...

And now the full circle of love... from those early moments of sun-like heat...through the comfort and strength found in time... to the witness of it's passing...

Three nice pieces these!

Braleigh said...

As always, brilliant and impeccable, and intensely so. I'm officially bestowing upon you the honor of Poet Laureate, because I, as often rumoured, am a country. I guess I could have claimed to be the leader of a country, but that isn't quite as novel as it used to be.

Thank YOU for being cool!

Firehawk said...

Bill,

I suppose it had to come around to love eventually. Thanks for reading. I know you're busy with a whole lot of other enterprises at this moment.

Brales,

Congrats on your country-hood. Is it Breighland, Braleighstan, the People's Republic of Braleigh, the Galactic Empire of the Divine Braleigh...?

As your Poet Laureate, I solomnly swear (with only the occasional breakdown and descent into maniacal laughter) to, er, do stuff to verbally deride our enemies and glorify our own faultless system of ninja-hood for all and free pharmacuticals, with pizza at a reasonable price and a 9 hour work week.

Seriously, thanks for thanking me for thanking you for being cool.

Let These Reflections Be Hidden From My Sight

The recognition of our own cruelty that glance into a darker mirror than we would ever willfully meet, our eyes gone feral within fa...