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The Jewel Of Jesus -

Who's that girl by the ancient tree... She's the daughter of a butcher, quiet and pouty... She's always there, contemplating unspoken prophecy... She scribbles poetry, they say her Mother is a sibyl raving... Solitude serves her like the aroma of rain on young chaos calming... She's bad magic bro, leave it alone wisely, she'll never put out in the indigo evening anyway, let it be... She's cute as a question cut crossly... Yeah, until she snaps like a cat crazed by shadows slithering... I want to know the sfumato of her psychology... Jesus, you're leaving for Kandahar in Autumn for your ministry study... I have the feeling she may understand me... I don't think you're gonna' woo her with your netherworld philosophy... Are you the Tomb flower... Are you the soul reaper... No, I'm just water for you pure... Without your cool attention will I wither... I suspect you'll endure like a diamond demure, I always see you here near Rachel's Tomb thinking in deep color, my name is Jesus, I live around the corner... I know who you are, your Father owns the store on Jerhico and Vine Street selling furniture, my name is Aurora, as in twilight's contour... As in a girl gifted with poetic allure... Oh yeah, what's the temper of my poetic flair... A temptation of curiosity whom is wisdom's teacher... To compare, red is the reason for the rose's rapture... How long have you been writing poetry like a star dipped feather... The women in my family have had the eyes of poets since love became a power, every Holiday my parents buy me a new scroll because I'm a Receiver... Does that mean you're a Seer... It means I'm a Believer, I often write my poems on clothing tatter, the fabric holds the coal ink like light to thunder... You look soo beautiful in blue jasper, the trim of lavender a pretty whisper for the flesh tones of your poetry's flicker... So what's your story of youth rising future... My Father wants me to be a carpenter eventually a business owner, but I want to be a God scholar, a spirit Minister, a heart helper... You seem like a natural speaker, I can see you being a stellar leader, if I'm not engaged by the end of the year I'll become a Kabbalah Temple devotee forever... The world isn't waiting for us to wonder about what work we'll procure... Neither is it waiting for us to love and suffer... Aurora, your touch has taught me tenderness of thought and terror of loss... We share a love cost... Forgive me for destiny's cold frost... Our love will survive doubt's boast... I'm leaving for Kandahar in morning's early gloss... Time be not cruel if we be not a fool... Justice is inward, not outward, if we are true then we are just... Jesus you are my heartbeat of trust... There's a spirit of Life Art that united us, I have something special for you, it's a jewel... It glows like embers of a star in a fog of winter... It's an opal, it's from where the North speaks of night sky fire... Take this fabric poem from my soul's purest prayer, it shall give you breath in the baptism of pain's pool... Ignited by the afterglow of love's rooting aftershocks, I surge to stare remorselessly at Melancholy's heart graying goodbye... *Sfumato is a technique, or occurrence of allowing tones and colors to shade gradually into one another producing softened outlines. J.A.B.

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Laura Breidenthal

Date: 4/29/2025 3:13:00 AM

“graying goodbye”—what a haunting finish. It suggests farewell as a fading color, a slow erosion of warmth, not sudden but inevitable. Also… before I write an essay here—I must say, I adore the opal. There’s something about fire opal in particular that reminds me of creativity itself—how it flickers with untamed color, like a secret trying to break through the dark. It’s a stone of expression, in my mind—of sacred unrest. Its interesting that Jesus gifts her one. Maybe as a talisman for all that she holds—and all that she dares to dream.Thank you for writing something so haunting, tender, and mythically human.From one soul scribbler to another.Always, Laura

Justin Bordner
Date: 4/29/2025 7:49:00 PM

You've never been more beautiful to me Laura...beautiful as an unspoken look of love...Justin

Laura Breidenthal

Date: 4/29/2025 3:12:00 AM

This line—“Justice is inward, not outward, if we are true then we are just…”—stopped me in my tracks. What an immense truth. The notion that justice begins within—rooted in self-honesty, in the courage to live without disguise—feels ancient and revolutionary at once. It’s not about external scales or systems, but about alignment between soul and action. It made me think that if we are sincere in our love, our longing, our becoming—then we are already just. That line alone could be a prayer. Those concluding lines—“Ignited by the afterglow of love’s rooting aftershocks…”—left me stunned. There’s a surreal weight to them, like standing at the edge of something once divine, now dimming. That phrase captures the tremors that remain after love has been planted deep, even if it can’t stay. It’s not simply looking at sadness—it’s a surging toward it, remorselessly staring at Melancholy’s heart, as if confronting the full gravity of goodbye is the only way to remain honest.

Laura Breidenthal

Date: 4/29/2025 3:09:00 AM

It felt like eavesdropping on fate—on a love stitched from prophecy and poetry, wrapped in lavender and scripture. Maybe Aurora isn’t just a figure—she’s a phenomenon, a flicker of borealis cutting through spiritual Melancholy. A soul-colored light in a sky full of questions. But maybe she was a little colorless til Jesus gifted her the color. Jesus—not the man on the cross, but the boy just before the myth—carries the ache of possibility and becoming. There’s a rare tenderness in how youth is held here: sacred, searching, trembling with the weight of its own longing. I just love how they both acknowledge each other’s strengths and in turn become more whole.

Laura Breidenthal

Date: 4/29/2025 3:02:00 AM

Wow… Justin, this curious piece struck me like a vision between dusk and devotion. Each line felt birthed from incense smoke—soft at the edges, but burning with something sacred underneath. The entire poem steeps in luminous sfumato, where emotion, dialogue, instinct and imagery blur into something otherworldly and alive. “There’s a spirit of Life Art that united us”—that line alone could hold up the sky. I feel it is the heartbeat of the whole piece: two souls recognizing one another through the colors of poetry, time, and purpose. I felt there was something beautifully tragic here—an ache that hums beneath the tenderness—but it never collapses under its own weight. The poem stays light on its feet, playful in moments, curious and alive even in the face of loss. It made me ache and smile all at once.

Alesia Leach

Date: 4/20/2025 5:58:00 PM

J.A.B., this was pure scripture of the soul. The conversations between Jesus and Aurora felt timeless and electric--two spirits recognizing each other beneath the veil of youth and tradition. Aurora is the embodiment of sacred poetry. Jesus, the ache of destiny wrapped in doubt and devotion. Their meeting under the shadow of prophecy and love’s urgency left me breathless. --Alesia

Justin Bordner
Date: 4/20/2025 7:35:00 PM

They gave each other something to believe in by giving priority to their intuitions Alesia. Your heart understands their bond beautifully Alesia...J.A.B.