Thursday, September 07, 2006

for david whyte

I am too frail.

in silence
it may be
that I am treasured.

but, as yet I cannot walk alone.

my essence
neither is
the candle flame's
soft flickerings, nor
is it the flitting moth’s

sweet flight - but is occasionally
illuminated within
their whispered
sensual dancing.

my present burnt into amethyst
upon my fingertips
by my past’s pure incomprehension
of the flame’s searing cognition.

in translucent layers I unmask myself -
my silent intuition
in wordless discourse
with my soul
burning my rawest flesh.

with the questions
that never had forsaken me.

within my bones
the ancient wisdom
surviving -
carving a path a foundation
forged in anguish
suffused with ignorance

leading to the world.

where I could return from my own exile.

walking on my own. walking towards love.

arriving to where all is absolutely - and unapologetically itself.

and was only waiting, waiting, for this my restoration.

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