poetry = nonsense
nonsense = meaninglessness
meaninglessness = void
void = nothingness
nothingness = spirit

Sharp blade
many a sharp blade I carry hidden beneath dark folds of traditional raiment and should I, on my path across the Buddha come surely would I kill him but my cutting edges thy lovely person shall never touch for thee blunt only shall my daggers prove though they would slice and should ye ask as have witnessed days foregone by my hand to be choked then thy throat would I squeeze firmly but gently, seeking thy release that we thus be bound in sweet ecstasy ’tis truth my lady speaks the tree was never there — and so thy mind opens to see beyond the vision that the child has come and cometh yet unto thee for of the countless stars in the vast firmament, ’tis thy light alone that can reveal his path and so I preach thine hope on this day before the Epiphany for thou art indeed special [5-I-2016]
Copyright © 2011 Erick Calder
All Rights Reserved
« prev | index | next »