Trauma of the Ego
In his image
Let me not contest the fire
Diminishing me from desire,
Shadow and reflection
Erased in aberration empty mirror
Seeing light swallowed by the form
Too bright for light to show.
In this image
The last landmark left inviolate
Pinnacled on a nest of words
Every sentence hatches me stronger
Every meaning
More eternal I become
While longing for the immortal him
To up-pole the flag
That I may kneel forever still
Before who I am
ii
This narrative of being
Provides time's only purpose to me
That it may write my unfolding
With scraps of unrecalled hisory
And each day as I live me over again
I closer come to my beginning
Which is truly my end
And history lapse forever
Unable to erase or scramble this again
The invisible hunger that irrevocably is my pain:
The absolute dawn of one
Immortal memory
iii
And what if some deliberate Enlightenment
Change meanings intent?
What if in syllables random smoke
A dog, inverted like a nine,
Formed the word self-evoked?
What if earth becomes the heart
And words become a sword
And life its file
Shall evil make us live
From mite of time to pride's spider
Webbing us again?
It seems the isolate batlles the blend
Of parts and wills that absolute became:
The candle transformed for the glory of the flame.
And to I this end
The protean proton dissolved in the element
And singularity of unchanging moment.
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012
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