She was that iron phoenix, rising like a storm conjured at the back of a blistered mind; torn by love, torn by hate, torn by a desolate night and an unrelenting sight; that mid-day sun, that starless sky, she was a morning dove’s cry; that mystery, that unrelenting history you could never quite recall, but in her eyes you… you saw it all; the dove, the crow, and the feast they’ll both sow, and the song that was sung the day their hearts were finally won, spun, out under that traveler’s… sun.
Today I sat with Kierkegaard and Tolstoy… Nietzsche was there too… as was Plath, and Woolf. And just like we were all old friends we sat and talked over my afternoon tea and a contemplative smoke. And together we wandered in the malaise that was, and is, life. And I wondered at all the brilliance, despite the darkness that seemed to haunt every thought, as well as the darkness that lingered… despite the harsh afternoon sun. And well… I saw then… all of them… the paths we had yet to wander, and the thoughts we had yet to ponder… and yet… in the seeing… was utterly devastated. For I saw then, what I had ever-refused before, a path that led you not here, to my waiting door… oh, how I had thought… and in that surety knew… what our eager hearts would do. But this… this bitter consideration was something new. What then did my aged advisors tell me to do? What conjure did they claim would ward-off this devastating blow? Why… they were as dumb and as deaf as a murdered mime, and their words rang with the hollow bitterness of time. But in their silence gave… a much-needed clue.
It should burn, like a fire
A raging desire, as hot as any sun
It should consume, at a touch
It should feel like it’s nearly too much
Never let it stop
Never let it stop
It will drive you to new heights
And depths… oh the depths you will plumb
Ten thousand directions
And when you know… La Fée
You’ll know them all
It should ache, like a famine
A toothache examined, and then reexamined
It should hurt, and throb, and drive you
But give you traction
Compel you into… action
For the rapture
You know follows the fever
What meager dreams
What petty schemes
Have you locked in at the seams?
When all along…
Just there…. at your fingertips…
An entire regime?