Of Contemplative Webbing

Here in the quietness like that of a silent root growing deep into the earth, I sit in the womb of my room, contemplating a tributary flow of imaging words from the lexical river of verse; sending streaming messages to the belly of starving eyes Suddenly, and as quiet as a shooting star across the sky’s vastness, a small black spider eight-track its way across a clear white wall, disappearing into liberation If only our own liberation could be as swiftly energizing, rather than like the quiet slow movement of a full moon seemingly struggling across the sky, reflecting the sun’s allegorical message; albeit its waxing and waning The sun has always had that bright symbolism of resurrection—liberation— new beginnings; even though its journey over valleys, across rivers, seas, and over hunchback mountains ends in a down setting over the ever waiting horizon While panging venomous verse plots to distort imagery messaging in the lexical flow, anti-venomous discernment, as quiet as a spider’s heart- beat, opens a floodgate of wisdom Thus, it is revealed that each sunset and each sunrise marks another triumphant day in the struggle, and despite the darkness the moon’s waning brings, there’ll always be bright tomorrows bringing one closer to the liberation quest That something as venomous as a black spider could be, should initiate the webbing of the tributary flow of this meandering hopeful verse, is no less than a mandate for pregnant poetic minds to continue to ink the liberating word