Through the Wall
This morning I left my bed
With reticence in my bones.
The old house shifted and settled
In another transitional place.
The car groaned changes of metal
Unlike what I came to expect.
Conservative witches chant
How maintenance is all worth,
How we must hold onto illusion
Despite the human expense,
How the fixing of the form
Preserves the meanings we make.
But what of matter matters?
The temple will have to fall.
The force that feeds the image
Is hungry to have it back;
And pain from feeling this motion
Is born in confinements of minds.
If I could question the Source,
I would beg it to clarify
Hints moving through my blood
Of the many reduced to the one.
I would ask if matter and I
As a part of it commune.
If the war on the external edge
Addresses my fall or my flaw,
My vision is forced to meander
Beneath its localized light.
I cannot stop moving for guilt
Over dreams played out in the dark.
I realize some who retain
Find it imposition to give.
I know a well measured cup
Diminishes even by drops.
I suspect that my fear of death
Is forgetting how to touch.
Yet all of these changes remind
How love can rend and flow
Through the hardest mental wall,
How passages render all hope.
And how the most saddening death
Can nourish another life.
Copyright © Jerrell Jones | Year Posted 2015
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