The Inner Voice of Mark Birros Ii (Excerpt)

THE INNER VOICE OF MARK BIRROS II From world war two in the Atlantic I hear the drowning cries of men, climbing out as in spirit from waters that lap the steps of the harbour wall ; time erodes as the sea - washing up these thoughts that linger here and on many beaches, thoughts that stick and have the stench of used oil around them, the name on a memorial does not reflect the horror ; the surf rejects such cogitation ; for a moment, ' try again ' the gulls seemed to say, ' let go ' said the movement of the ocean, but I cannot, I simply cannot for what transcends these waves and breathes out the universe is love, the love of a father.... ... ... The old clock ticks away the day that haemorrhages the evening, and like a night- nurse at the bed as growing lesions slowly spread, the crescent moon would nothing say to see the patient pass away ; the stars call out but they are late - what metaphysics spring from that while in my soul eternity is smiling like the Cheshire cat !... A presence haunts me as that touch - that hugs the heels in failing light, with eyes that peer through space and time and follow me into the night.... ... The pine wood has its secrets - I am one of them now, like the columns of an ancient temple, straight and upright where no priest intercedes - I trust it with my life, I am theirs and they are mine, growing inside me, sturdily and strong, transcending their roots with my secrets to their archetypal heaven... ... ... As if a change of consciousness was meant, against the pull of ego, the body inwardly swept up in spiral ascent, spirited away from me from all the world below, from all that I would ever be that anyone might know ; raised the cloaked arm of my archetype to draw the void across my eyes, and I did rise to heights of bliss to see the world from this - dancing in vortices, tiptoeing on pools as through a mesh, devoid of flesh ; our world is an illusion - a carousel to light, as in the midst of heaven we ghost on through the night... ...