Tuesday, January 24, 2012

I Would Dream of Strength . .

Somewhere in France

I would dream of a
a benevolent heaven
announcing itself with
a reverberation of multitudes
of crystal bells and
a flutter of invisible wings
holding back
the tirade of everyday horrors . . .

I would dream of
torrents of waters
created by a wisp of a breath . .
an avalanche, a flood . . .
where the essence of life . . .
a lightening bolt of blue . . . vibrant
with energy,
is a fragile bud
pushing through broken gray rock .

I would dream of her skin
marked like a city map
cracked and bloodied
where roads would fall . .
a warrior's valor . . . standing
on the brink of helplessness
she carries the weight of a universe . .
in her womb

I would dream of
a solitary melody wafted from a
piano rippling below her broken hands .. .
the stretch of fingers
lost somewhere in the weight
of a tarnished golden ring . .
a space of silence loops around
where in the grave
she will be still. . .
and her children
keen at the marred knees
where once they bent before the gods . ..

I would dream of a shattered vase . . 
cutting away the memories of yesterday's rose . . . 
and shining ribbons of scarlet blood
wrap around the effervescent islands .  . 
like a slender chain 
stretching into tomorrow
where the rain blurs the shadows 
cast by an ever hidden sun

I would dream of palaces and castles
built on love's great foundation,
where sunlight sings the name
of everyone she loves . .
I would dream beyond the pain,
letting sorrow fly away
with a ray of hope, an elixir carried
in the seraphim's heart . . . like honey,
and leave a single drop to glisten on your lips
as if a kiss
from angels . .  just a moment
of a dream . . .
let it pass
and let it return in strength . . .

My Comments:

Compelling . . . after all . . .


This was better than I thought it would be . . . 

after glancing at the sad and obscure album cover . . . 
feeling turned away . . 
yet I stepped into this album and found it to be very, very good 
as a matter of fact
. . . very imaginative . .
vibrant and articulate . . . sharp and clear . .

"Forest Temple" leading me straight into a dark and mysterious jungle
hot and humid . .
yet cooling
where thick green leaves
stay the violent and abusive sun . . .
"Mystery" the swishing of angel wings,
the sigh of something lost,
a quiet and tender touch,
a syncopated moment in a breeze . . .
the clang of a distant chain
upon a metal pole . .

Each track a mural . . a vision
a picture of what is to be . .
or what was . . ..
a dream . . .
a memory . ..

Cahors, France

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