More beautiful than the winds Who by their silky back-and-forth Weave hope into destiny; And never has the hope launched Any man’s wager as high as the vital illusion Who rides his flight on the wings of the vulture.
If death can fly for the sake of stealing, is there anything that life, for the sake of dying, could not do?
I am blond and he is handsome May the kingdom of heaven be our gift; Before he hailed me, my heart was broken and loved by the Prince who died on the cross for me;
Inside this White cloister and under this patient space of ivory arches where my novitiate’s hours are spent here is where I weave my happiness I say my prayers without sorrow
Under this closed sky of early winter. I sleep a sleep that is attentive only to God. Inside this alabaster cloister I am a peace-filled and hopeless nun traveling with God by desire, waiting for angels to draw another chaste evening
I am blond and he is handsome I dream of his whispers, greedy and hear his soft humming against my flesh Blue, dark, transparent, I am caught inside the depths of greedy whispers, and soon someday he will be beside me, over me, inside me his longing has no end, his mouth speaks lover’s words, he has no time for prayers or begging;
He will open a scar in me, a stigmata I will be filled and full of miracles blasting through the sharded skies of his love, falling into the living water of his kiss, I cry out for caresses that satisfy every longing and blinding joy
I was walking the road to destiny I walked towards a flood of love I was walking the path of healing; I met my love as he waited in the morning mist, Edelweiss bouquet in hand, petals drying beneath the sun
I was walking the high road to him the Angelus ringing out from the chapel bell tower below, I was walking with a light step, feverish dreams reaching inside my aching heart as I walk I am the rolling hull, I am the wild oat in his field the perfect product of his cultivating, I am a furtive joy and a smile, my soul breaks through all darkness, even the darkness of his love’s great light, I am pale sunset of sighs and hard memories,
I am his misty future and vain repentance, his painful sunrise of glorious love, of worry, of weariness begging for leniency
He is an outlaw, his word is my beatitude, inside his love I keep vigil, I am the high beacon of shattered strength, I am his oar to shore, I am sulky of his disdainful desires, yet my kisses carry the bite of utter submission, I am the ancient rock, the spirit of reincarnated ancestors I am the eyes of the life beyond, I am faithful to his most absolute demand
Forgetting that time ends in all things, and even new beginnings become stagnant, she wished to see for the first time the oceans inside his eyes stop for a moment in her waters..
there are virgins who must always be near their god, and who when crossing each of his thresholds, make a wish instead of penance;
as love can come full season, she lights candles to keep dead watch over her wandering god and overcome with emotion, she throws open the door peering out to the distance, a new god coming in on tonight’s storm she guesses and hopes, lifting up her arms, palms open to catch the sunset songbird singing over every wound on this earth.
If anyone hears me, if anyone is listening, my tears have dried, if someone accepts me as I am, if there is any love left, if our soldiers become prayers, if the warring trumpets fall silent, if your tears for my king are benediction.. if there is any love left, if a single word were enough, if my voice carries consolation, if my love knew how to console if our hands entwined lift up bearing swastikas of peace,
if death were silent and life sacred, I would no longer be alone…
We stop speaking, Our silence like prayers on the wind swings through the willows hanging over the trough You know despite my silence that the leaves are going to fall, and you know despite my silence that I belong to you although I’ve never said the words, doves and twilight your hand a Sun reaching out to me, your Goliath’s eyes on me mute my fear and tonight is the night when everything is left to prayer
Guardians of our race inner shadows watching as around moving within ourselves searching the night that returns to us holding hands, entering the mirrors of our lands
looking for what is lost those ancient treasures we were meant to inherit, stolen – facing aching eternity absent those stairs and the halls leading to our glorious reigning heaven
Holding hands we break bread before eternity, seeking the stars of our destiny, we were born like this and hated for our beauty, living now lost at the height of clouds so serene among the shadows between heaven and hell and we know that only our Love exists here where Heritage keeps us wandering
looking for treasures squandered the treasures stolen, the memories lost, the Light of our world;
Our ancient guardians sign custody papers using the seven names of God; knowing they will soon come to claim us, we are on the move and arriving for having come so far; we will leave with those who are leaving, while chasing away those who chase us Guardians of our race, extend your blessings and grace over us as we birth a new race, a new world a new home..
Deliverance is music and splendor We go beyond the chaos We open up to other innocences
Our desires live inside inaccesible gardens where the trees have no root, where the plants sing of freedom and infinity fringes the latticed flowers on the gate, open to all pollen, bittersweet with the flavors of distant fruits
we’ve circled one another for so long hesitant, reticent, waiting for all defenses to fall, the hunger in us grows through tomorrow like a vine strangling fear; we are for each other no strangers to ritual; our candles and memories are omens, our longing becoming prayer…
we barely speak this language of love; that improbable existence of luminous joy is not for him, the philosopher, nor for me, his poet, we offer to others what we deny ourselves while dreaming for too long, defenses one by one burning from the center of Self reaching for the horizon, our hearts embracing before the suffering Light, our hearts bathed and washed in waters of love’s benediction; placed along shores where the fires ravage our fierce dreams, inaugerating that which is not yet in us
It’s not in smoking volcanoes Nor in the boiling blue foams rising from the oceans Yet in these regions is where you and I live, here we name the secret streets and make elegant histories to describe this, our indecipherable colony of love, here we live through nights and days under the wide open gaze of the sun and the moon, looking for augurs in in the skies, searching for the dazzling eclipse, a white crack the thundering gash of God His holy hologram Eye all seeing emerging through the hollow walls of our planet, He offers us incense and fire with which to light up the the scattered syllables of the lost codes written on these stones which I carry, each in its own upturned palm, as I seek him who will read these invisible stones which are my burden; yet
despite my patience, no fiery winged Pentecost descends around me, just these snatches of darkness, as I put on my lead mask, turning my face up to the sky; innominate meteors fall down, robbing me of my vision that fails just as he locks the doors behind us.
You fall once again through the slit of the night with no other weapon but open eyes and terror against the invader. He is legion, Relentless Legion is his name; growing tenfold, you’re cornered inside the ravenous cobwebs of his blind romance Sentry Soul, you are the One closing his eyes becoming the home of His whole universe,
Whoever opens his eyes draws to the border to remain homeless there forever as insomnia comes tunneling through to prove the inconsistency of all reality;
Night after night I am punctured by the single bullet that you shot right into to me in the dark, and I try to recognize you when we waken from the memory of death, you, my perverse temptation, adorable angel attacking my Sentry Soul, kissing my skin, your sacred face buried in my hair, whispering conjurations to make up for having been born..
You who speak of bribing the emissaries of my future: at the bottom of Everything there is the Garden where the blue flower of Novalis’ dream blooms eternal, it is the cruelest flower, the Vampyre Flower