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* Artists of every kind, I believe, are but tools for something far grander … what that is, I’ll leave to the philosophers. *
~
bend …
your voice to me
tickle my tympans with a
wisdom, whispered
and wild …
rake my abyss for a dark dream -
press it to my flesh
molten marrow to scorch the
lies away like chaff
to cede a language of the ages -
an unvarnished gospel that my hands
in paralyzed piety
may translate …
from my fallow fallibility
to the sacred blood of your quill -
a verse as sweet
as untainted and timeless
as pure, stark, empirical, and graceful
as enchantingly hopeful …
as Heaven …
itself.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, May 10, 2024
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2024
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