Poet's Song
It is in the first of morning
that I sense my magnum opus--there
among that which is most mundane,
and like a ghost that I
may never see or touch--
of which I know no thing at all,
except that he is there.
I said it was not fair
that he should haunt me,
said that he is mine;
let him emerge from shadow's shell
and ride my lips,
my mind, my passion,
then release from spirit realm,
no matter how diaphanous,
another breath of truth.
I know.
As Adam felt a universe implode for him
within his consciousness
and as his sinews formed,
he gave us God,
creating in the endless dance
among the stars,
co-creating in our midst
while light shone down,
his own magnum file,
(and for me as well)
a pathway for retreating night.
Then all the painters, sculptors,
physicists called out for light,
became aware of texture
and the price of tears...
and time and years
could disappear.
He is my friend,
this little formless god
who plods along with me,
not big enough to share.
"Come on, a little farther,
there is starlight here," he says,
"and you have not yet learned
to dance."
~
Copyright © Robert Ludden | Year Posted 2012
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