Kaleidoscope
"Kaleidoscope"
They say another
wrote the story, not I.
that I, mere I,
having little experience, shy
and far removed from
such an alien world,
would not possess the knowledge
of such terrible and ruthless, lusty
characters of strong will;
that these perplexities
and complexities, were not
birthed by a mere slip of girl,
a flighty will-o-the-wisp
with dreams dispersing
barefoot and wilful,
roaming indolently,
sighing restlessly
across barren hills;
such a contradiction.
yet, I wasn’t berthed.
No one could tether me,
though I was found to be
moored, where
peregrine breezes
kissed me.
even now they wonder,
was it I? … or the one
who left before me, with
such novel haste.
worlds die eventually
and the truth dies with the
old world, all is black and dark.
for a while.
first phase, a supernova,
then after a time,
a new star is born,
in its stead.
one shadows the other.
always. but never,
in the mirror's bed.
in my life, moors were
not people, but plains
of a confined yet open
existence, spread wide and
intermittently purple
with the scent
of long forgotten
lavender, the place where
true romance, breathed
all that was escape in,
uncannily that was where
Life was found, it rested; there,
the ripe confessions buried
to bloom spectres,
who roamed those barren
childhood rectories, visited them
like curated cloaked banshees,
at open windows imploring
the woke apparitions to let them
wildly come back in, return
to what was left standing,
eerily vacant after the deluge,
where we each wore the
clay mask of an absent mother.
through Her, spoke our stories.
they always tout 3 as the
number, they forget 4, 5, 6
and all the others, imploring.
a story,
that, which was deemed,
I could not write for
virtue of being
such a childish woman,
totally unexplored,
demure and inexperienced
at life; a solitary confinement,
in an awkward body of work
not meant for this world,
perhaps not even
the next.
For, I was just a mere girl,
then mere woman,
lacking the required
fortitude, and
piercing experience.
Some referred to my
obsequious nature
as being strange and
at odds with that
which was totally
expected by virtue
of the differences in
the underlying thoughts
and motives, of the
'you should be this not that'
characters of all others.
I was,
unexpected, reckless,
and hopeless, they said.
I was not anticipated.
that is to say, in the end,
the thought that came
into host my volatile persuasion,
articulated, I alone, was not that,
which mattered most;
“we” were, each
the other’s flame
and imagination;
for veritable ignition.
it is our secret
for no one else.
We are each,
the other’s channel.
always, turned on,
for the swim across
unusual dimensions,
electric lightening
veined alive, gloriously at odds,
for want of better explanation,
reaching out to each the other.
This, a life force united,
to be reckoned,
in another life,
when the old world
we knew then, imploded,
dissolved to nothing,
when the All became
invisible.
death only brings
to bare a new world
like the first breath
of a crying child
and in this new world,
where absent mothers
and sisters wait expectant,
not empty ghosts like another,
wondering lost
in New Covenant,
like a collared curate
walking into confessionals
seated and hit by cloudy storms
and dark sardonic hailing iced Marys;
through open windows
permeates my light, burning
as if in hell - but this all depends
of course, on which story
you want me to tell -
my Light,
I am elated to convey,
remains shining bright,
like a Fresnel lens beacon;
we stand still, the missing
and the missed,
reborn and united.
Heaven and Hell.
I shall not be poet
nor writer, but
the strange one,
who brings forth
new curious colours,
spectrums in waves
peculiar vibrations
from inside, the other,
to those outside,
seeking shinier
outcomes, confetti
like a kaleidoscope.
there are many
ways to read and
understand a story.
My ship is called
the Ellis Bell
it runs rings around
a poésie, like wheels
of Ezekiel. It flies
like my pet Merlin,
I rescued once,
only once.
That bird,
had a mind of
it’s own.
I named that firebird,
Nero.
Never moored.
It always found its own way
home.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
gvlm
llb,klb,mlb
ljb
"Shall earth no more inspire thee,
Thou lonely dreamer now?
Since passion may not fire thee
Shall Nature cease to bow?
Thy mind is ever moving
In regions dark to thee;
Recall its useless roving—
Come back and dwell with me."
******
"I was at peace, and drank your beams
As they were life to me
And revelled in my changeful dreams
Like petrel on the sea.
Thought followed thought—star followed star
Through boundless regions on,
While one sweet influence, near and far,
Thrilled through and proved us one."
Copyright © Lady Labyrinth | Year Posted 2022
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