Squandered Preservation

Squandered Preservation

The darker side of passion;
lying dormant like a tumour,
waiting like a ticking bomb,
on the wheel of life and love.
Wandering like blinded infants
you move through the darkness;
hands out to catch you
should you stumble and fall.
A pit of teeth, a wall of daggers,
through the quicksand you trudge ever on.
Pinholes; gashes; leaches of treachery...
and you feel upon your face,
your hands, your heart each tiny scar.
Like must, absolutely, speak to like.
You know this even while in doubt
of your likeness residing in the veil.
Onward you march, single file existence
until you finally fall into the
crisp, cool light of your true, complete being.
You recognise these maps
carved out in stone and bone, in tears
like mirrored souls cast out
with only a thin strand to guide you
back home to the rest of this.
Now you are complete!
Lovely heaven, lovely perfection; fulfilled?
The searching over, the fear abated,
that loneliness and darkness---lost at sea.
All the wounds have closed, that be.
But, the blade shifts end over end as
one becomes the other and with
the other one and one; one shall be.
Cruelty beyond cruelty waits unseen.
Binary stars, brother of flesh and bone,
sewn swiftly and surely into tapestry.
Paintings fade, clay cracks, threads unravel
inevitably the dark will swallow one half
or the other of the whole...and what then?
No hand to hold, no heart to enfold, silence...
the body fails and the soul will set sail
into the void of the next world and leave
it’s other in the void again of this...
so to what end is the searching darkness
at the outset truly conceived?

---phoenix
6/6/2008

[I do not know when I originally penned this particular work but consider this the new revised edition]

any copying/reproduction/distribution of this writing, in whole or in part, without express permission from the author is strictly prohibited. ©SaerenPhoenix 2008
(Please contact the author with questions.)