The Saga of The Spark

[rosabelbelieve]

Okay. I have mentioned several times around here that I was working on some poetry that was taking a long time. Those poems are finally finished, and I thought you guys might like to see them, even if they are rather (incredibly) long. The whole thing is a bit of a poem cycle, so it is broken into somewhat manageable parts. But I would be very grateful, again, to those who take the time to read.

[rosabelbelieve]

1.

This is the ember asleep.

It's as if I had bound myself to the dark middle house
tied myself up at the spindle, the knarling heart
And said: You cannot leave this place until
your heart be crystal, and your words be twine.
Your eyes be wisdom, tresses spidery grace
and long again, all mended, endless as the sky.

You cannot be set free until your will is steel
your thoughts immutable, immortal, as fine gems
your silence frost-bound moveless in the dark
Your dreams immense and perfect. All your limbs...
are purified and scourged of dread disease
Bones unchangeable, and core of mystery
Regained. And taken softly to be safe forevermore.

Until the rare forbidden word of sacred call
is known to you, you will be locked within
And still as death, as moveless as a stone.

A shut-eyed flower, kissed by drowsiness
kissed by numb wasps to closed dark eyes
closed to the humming bees
closed to the honey.

And pollen,
stowed like treasure
deep inside.

Like a secret kept
a poem untold, untold
and changeless, theftless
lifeless, deathless, blind
speechless, senseless
in the bounds of mind.

Until you hear the dreaded summons of the king
cruelest call, most beautiful of all, unspeakable
You shall not see the spark of salt and fire in the ash
You shall not know the secret ember locked within
the dust of your dumb mortal house' silent breast

It is a tomb from which the flare will rise
It is the muteness of the silent flint
If you see this, dread and glory
Dread, despair and the breath
most of all. If you see this -

A spark will always, always, always come
From the very slumber of the soul.

[rosabelbelieve]

2.

This is the spark.

This is the spark of such a puzzling dream
where stars seem to tower in great hallucinations
of desire, towers of stars, insatiable.
Djinn's palaces and lambent caverns
The magical and monstrous godlike beast
And sent to be some silent wife of darkness
the cowering Persephone, Scheherazade
who with her lantern holds the night at bay
As swooshing towers of stars rise up like wind
with dreamlike brooms of white-hot gold and blinding red
Rise up in summons spellbound, power beyond her -
towers of stars like dragons, roaring with sleep

Roaring with the profoundest deep of slumber
Slumber of a thousand years
a thousand dreams.

As she awaits the rescue of some swallow
some fiery winged-horse she knows will come
and cowers with the very light she holds.
Her summons bind to legend and unfold
to snare like spidersilk as she grows old.

But now
Only fire.
The intensity
of her incineration
And her deep young prophetess-eyes
over the red, red, luminous earth.

This is what happens when you forget
This is what happens when you struggle to get free -
She feels the flames of revelation quicken in her breast
And the apocalyptic loom of electricity
Takes hold, and catches fire in her hair.
The leaden hand of dread melts in her heart
and fears the reckless glory of her savior
his wild crimson upset of mythology
that tears the seamless fabric of her fate
and trails a monstrous fire over the sea.

Her summons have awakened
an ancient mystery
of endless fire.
Awestruck
she is not afraid.

All the kingdom of sleep alight
all the waters sighing in somnambulation
and she wanders, stunned, O the Queen of the Underworld
Mistress of silver, of the gold and the ruby's blood
Silent queen, of the beauteous solemn stone.
Inflammatory are the shaking skies
Sonorous, symphonious and shuddering
in the ecstasy of lightning and all the clouds boiling up
like a war turned in on itself.
All the mysterious electricity -
And what a cacophonous symphony that is,
yet she can't hear, can't see
blind as the the birds that coo and swarm and stumble
from deep chasms opening up, thunder breaking open her ears
and fire and salt, fire and salt, fire and salt...

Calamity in scattered divination
gets to the bottom of the bones
breaks to the end of the flesh.
Calamity of ash and of endless, endless dust
and venomous lightning, breaks and breaks the earth
The mystery of such a funeral pyre
just to call her back to mortal life.

_

There are ghosts streaming in the air
in vaporous, sulphurous sheets,
inescapable stench
Of the dead also set free
Oblivious, oblivious, and blind as she.

She can hardly see them.
Wisdom hastens away from her
narration scampers and scurries, abandons her
in fire. If this is what it requires -
If this is the price paid -

Monstrous flaming god, mysterious intensity!
Flame tongue, speechless utterly unfathomed beast
the claws of leaden dread that prelude death
and afterwards the stomach is relief
the endless endless darkness of the toothwomb
can never hurt her, bodiless and fearless in her rage.
All the fires as much consume her
as they eat the charcoaled scars of trees
It is her spine they spiral up in triumph
and her heart the treasure they release
to lead far from its silent lock and key
its snapdragon, mandragora, and dreamless poppy
in such an incandescence of delirium.

This much fire
to loosen the garnets
the stone-cold emeralds
from her heart.
This much fire
to seek out the embers
and cast her out
from her kingdom of sleep
and spiderwebs.

To draw her from her deeps...

Oh, Desire! Spangling blind overtaking aching spinetingling shine
Nectar of diamonds, water of life, honey of milk of heaven unknown, unknown
The hands held up, delirious, dew-dropped, seeking
Alchemy, so feverish, so opaline, like snow -
Salt seas and waters swallowing and flood as one
their flames awake the beast, mortality.
The hands clutch up, bee-stung, bedecked in honey-sweet
dripping, helpless, rarest, golden, fire through a sieve.

O conflagration of macabre splendor!
your immense spellbound immortal streaming flame
Your immortal and balletic masquerade
Clawed goddess, shattered amber of the moon
Divining, mythologic, leaning in
to take apart the spindling milk of bones
to call the furious knife of destiny
to leave us gleaming in the marrow of our silence.
To leave us all immortal, past all pain.

No chalice holds
the life of the living
No cauldron takes
the dust of the dead.

Persephone, Scheherazade
the taloned tiger clawed within her chest
the waters heaved and shuddered in her breast
So luminous, so monstrous and macabre
So opalescent and inflamed beyond all else.

Mysterious
Past fear
She took his hand.

I am falling apart
in your arms of panoramic fire
Sleepless, helpless
Awestruck
Unafraid.

[rosabelbelieve]

3.

Darling, that is all I remember.

All I can think of is fire,
without even words.

It was the desperate flare of a desolate whirlwind desire
It was your savage glory breaking and breaking my heart
and seething, seething up in flowers over the dark underworld
the solemnest tomb in blossom and panic of burning
Desire, bone-breaking, swift-theft, blood-enchanting!

And it left my heart changed.
O, it left my heart ravished.
As dazed and aflame as the meadows
sunstruck sparkling blind.
Thundering with ponderous plundering pollen of bee-bliss
thick with the itch of honey and drinking the golden dust
of life and death all sifting together, unbounded.
Yet as soon sprung from solitude, tied to another heart.
As soon unlocked from silence sewn tenderly to a murmur
So sudden is the hum of fire, of magic in your touch
and alchemical subtlety, destiny
deftness and skill.

To light the match
unlatching frostbound palaces
first a fire of blood and longing
awakening a ghost aflame dream yearning.
Knocks the doors down of my darkness
with the radiant muscle of the sun.

All of a sudden is honey dripped helplessly
as numb on the tongue as sleep
and as sweet as nothingness.

But a honey to sting
and to ache of its own sweetness
So turned my sleep
to dreams, of auroral fire, turning
to sleeplessness.

So do the birds lift their secret wings
and their spun song from the arches
of earth dust and charcoal, sopor and smoke left behind
when the trains snort like dragons through their cavernous tunnels
and tear a dream from the sorrow of walls, mercilessly.
All they can do is to rant and wonder aloud -

At the fire of cataclysm that has passed through them
The miraculous spark of disaster gone from the stars
And waters let loose and shining, skies limitless
the meadows amurmur, encumbered with vibrating life.

A hidden heart still beating
In the emerald slumber of the hills.
Another aeon, safe.

A thousand years, the fever dreams are gone.
And the hearth-flames give no hint of dangerous heat.
And we forget the constant rhythm of blood.
And we forget things underneath the green.

How very strange it is, to have seen something
the merrymaking earth will not lend ear to.

A burning heart invisible
or an atom aflame.

_

Every oblivious leaf flowering up in peridot ignorance
every lissome shoot lighting green fire from nothingness -

Knowing nothing at all,
as it tumbles towards blossomy finish
and thunders towards nectar-bound burdens of loveliness.
Spins blissful to dust and to death and to blossom end
Spins drowsy to slumber of pollen in swooning fields
Sighs longing to the benumbing embrace of hills

As they begin to enfold me. As I begin
to belong to them, and their dark welcoming arms
sleep hollows, seeping green and unmanifest fire
blossoms in yawning and sinking to sleep again.

What wild emerald arpeggio of abandon
to flower so mindlessly blissful desire-entranced
flower so endlessly, lamenting, circadian.
As if they knew nothing of autumn's sacrificial pyre
As if they knew nothing of pain, in numb ravishment.

The sinew-rounding winding down of destiny
spiderweb cruel and gossamer tenderness.
Setting down time to tear my heart open
and eternity to bind it up again.

Setting down death.
And the ultimate theft
that would take you from me
past all bounds of simple human hands.
And blight any pure blossom with bloodshed.
For even in birth there is bloodshed.
Even in rain there is thirst
and even in feast there is hunger.
Even in sweetness is hurt.

That is why your dearness makes me weep.
That is why needing is mortality.

All in this flare of tarantella blindness
and this blindness of enchanted desire.
The marrow-knot, of mystery, safe-tied.

This is the insatiable shimmer of energy
scurrying delicately to dissipate
in the flirtatious disappearing dance of butterflies.
Or birdsong, blossom charm bluster
from nothingness. Of a dream wakened within
and insatiable.

Nothing to escape the blossom ravages
With beating heart -
And my heart beats.

It beats again, in reckless tumbling down
and blood that blossoms on dark oxygen
to nothingness. Enchanted always, in and out
is breath again, and blossom, until death.
And even then... the fire of decay
As flowers narcoleptic nod and sink
from pollen gold to silver, hoary-headed
Blossoms like the winter's gossamer
that drowsily come undone dust and summer snow
and float in dreams of frost or starry spaces
Stars come to dust in spiderweb and sleep.

What is this?

The underworld is going down in flowers
and solitude becoming the perdition of my heart
What is this? The inexplicable finding
of the burning of breath in the dumb body of clay
of the panicked flare of poetry in the silentest core
of the stark stillness stunning in the storm
of the ocean flame in flashing sapphire
and the sun is the doomed lightning boom of thunder.

And I cannot escape them
the drowning, flowering
flooding, flame of breath
and I cannot escape!

The blossom ravages.
For my heart beats.

[rosabelbelieve]

4.

In my own world unending
and with so many endings.
In its clumsy cumbersome lovely
grieving mending tenderness.

A salve of verdant slumbering staunching silk
over the ancient, ancient wounds of land
and ancient mouths of need all opened up
by milk and feast and by the pollen kiss.

The rosy mouth of need is not yet closed
by green slumber and pollen-heaviness
And the beauty unbearable that can do nothing else
but tremble, at last to sleep and oblivion.

Beauty unbearable, turns only of itself.
Star dying of its own unbearable radiance
Perfection expiring of its own luminosity.
But always luminosity prevails...

Most unbearable of all
is eternal luminosity.
Immortal beauty, most excruciate
for it never decays, and holds decay within.

Most unbearable
is your mortal loveliness.
Your worrisome finitude and your enduring heart.
One is awe and the other is tenderness.
And the flood of both, it feels so much the same.

As the fields of pollen drowse in gossamer
a spiderweb to bandage blossom woe.
And the stain of wine and blood is over everything,
besotted dew-soaked poppies or flowers drowned
in nectar and green, so blind towards destiny.

And I know our years in paradise are numbered.
Until bearing beauty we can no longer stand.
As blossoms nod and hair turns to frost-silver
And love is doomed to ache and fall upon
The soft lush looming of the mending green
And finally to dreams and slumber, finally
to bliss. Can I hold on to you
so long enough to make it there,
to bliss? Past loss and fear
and mortal paradise.

In all this theft and plundering of summer
as honeybees they plunder, pollen to honey
pollen to their benumbing melodious thunder
As songs are plundered from their ancient bliss.
And bees bring slumber, bees bring blossom nod
bring wasp-kiss, seal of dreams, and honeycomb...
To kiss the blossoms as they shut their eyes.
To kiss you as closed lashes bear us home.

_

Yet when you have gone away
Poetry bleeds within me, like an ancient wound -
Smoldering heartbeat in the emerald slumber
I can't bandage or staunch
by any moderate means.

As blossoms nod and fall with thuds like heartbeats
lost to us forever, fathomless, forgotten dreams
In this slow benumbing month of summer slumber
Poetry bleeds - at the hollow you touch, the chalice you fill.

The itch of gold grown drunk and lazy
and loveliness is sinking into the lush looming green
in this aeon of slowness. The slowness of our aeons
as they fall like heartbeats from our paradise.

In this summer of need grown mute with bounty
kisses, blesses, blushing blossoms as they shut their eyes
to wasps and slumber-bearing bumblebees
come humming, honey-buried, in the fields
swarm so hypnotic and with such deafening glory.
I long for this. A paradise in loss forever...

I long for this.

To kiss the blossoms as they shut their eyes
To kiss the honey sealing in the comb
To kiss the dying poems that close to dreams
To kiss you as your eyes are shut to me.

[rosabelbelieve]

5.

And bless you, every inch of you!
And salve the very darkest wound of living
and kiss the mouth of hunger into bliss
and kiss your sleeplessness to slumber...

As swollen heady hills come rolling inwards
the swelling emerald hills in their shawls of green
dear hills of silence, holding beating heart.

Clouds skimming like flat-bottomed boats abounding
from stainless blue come drifting faraway -
from oceans and the sagas of the sky
to set down their knots and sinews down within
the limits of the land. As we are bound here
fast in our very heartstrings, to this looming green
and this doomed love, and bleeding poetry.

An old wound healing in the rust of the leaves
a sweetness sealing, like a honeycomb

In the lissome doomed solfeggio of leaves
as symphonious tendrils they tower to flower-end.
My poem isn't done. It keeps bleeding
and tumbling towards loss and blossom finish -
and lurching to luminous slumber in a thunder of glory -
green ravagement of an unspeakable bliss
this bliss of finish, kiss of shutting eyes.

And only then may we pass onward dreaming.
If you will keep your cherished hand in mine.

[rosabelbelieve]

6.

To think a year has passed over us
and the dandelions climb somnolently over the green
in their encumbering and pollen-laden safekeeping.
A summer dream so slowly swaddling
in blissful emerald slumber tenderness
A smoldering wound in this ancient heart
enfolded in aeons of sleep, and aeons of time.

Beauty tumbling of itself to silverness
and hoary-headed hidden gossamer.
The drowsy swandown snow of our descent
and the descent of summer, slumber's kiss.
Aeons, aeons... I could mark them on the drum of a heart
Or the scrawling inkmarks of an anguished page.
Or loveletters from long ago, still living.
It's so beautiful, that they come here, always.

And that love could endure like some spiritual citadel
in vanquishing green that tramples whole cities underfoot.

My desire, the ocean
turns in its bed of stones to tenderness
in the constancy of our dear bracing descent
and words of stone or coral, tossed anchorless
but safe. As your heart is safe in its destiny.

And her tasseled bounty finds its words
in silent kindness, and blameless severance
Of blossom nod, and a subtle poem
Gnawing stonelike in the inmost heart.

Subtle song of distant violin
and clothes hung out to dry, so charmingly
as if a heart, a poem, a city, love story, endures
and beholds all of this savage glory.

A city... what nostalgia. A countryside
of sleepy green and meadow sprawl
Where the poet pauses often as she writes
and you embrace, the way you'd always meant to
you say the words, so slowly, and so numbered,
like a loss. And it is the knowledge
of our fleeing tenderness.

And it is a promise
to seal us together
in the abyss of eternity.

_

A heart at anchor, in the limits of this land
and dragged down with honey and burdensome with fruit.
Deft sempstress of necessity. Her silent hand
weaves so much more slowly, now, descending
Gentleness unrushed, and cruelty softened
in our green slumber and our mercy of dreams.
Wild strawberries reddening the fields, like stars -

Dearest, we need not keep them.
Words once so worrisome
are no longer our relentless destiny.

Our destiny is loss. Our destiny is wasp-kiss,
and dreams. Beauty we cannot bear forever
and in the end, only unspoken words
that we can hold on to. Necessity
a word that will not let us go.

Necessity is simple now, I promise you
the world is so much slower spinning down
than it is in the swiftness of flower rise
and of blossom theft and ravages.

And there is something here, beyond her
and beyond our temporal emerald aeon
and the drowsy rampage of blossom end.
Beyond the trampling longing, I promise, is safety -
I promise you, you'll find me there, past want and time
your heart be safe and its wounds salved and kissed.

To kiss the blossoms as they shut their eyes
to kiss you as your eyes are shut to me.

Past this solemn wasp-blessing,
past this muteness and this finish.
You will find me. Lost already,
touched by death or touched by falling
lost and safe, oblivion of your arms!

The lustre of my hair is wound with grey
though it is hidden, as the earth hides snow
and silence holds the sweet inevitable
Necessity... that fields are going down
from blossoming to drowsiness to silver
narcoleptic tenderness knee-deep in slumber
knee-deep in desire, knee-deep in stinging dreams!
Overtaken with the swarming drone of bees.
To kiss the blossoms as they shut their eyes
to bear us safely past our paradise.

Your warmest, safest heart beyond all else
as wanderlust, it settles to this pretty place
where we set down our weary limbs within
the pollen-laden limits of the land.

Having known fire, having known truly terror.
Having known floods and conflagrations.
Have known the spark of love miraculous
disastrous, and eternal.
As immortal water pours
into our dreams and veins, awakenings.

_

This, we stand amid.

The numb and lovely longing
falling down in flower and in silver and in tenderness
all trance of living, emerald vertigo
to vertigo in trembling green salvation
and in the welkin beholds all of this -

The poem that clenches us to dwelling in this land
these lulling poppies, mooring stone roots, green millinery
and luminous oblivion come undone
or magic sealed within a honeycomb.

Poem of no end, my darling
poem ever bleeding to you.

_

These are the hills of time
as they begin to enfold me.

Strewn with flowers, your arms
drunk with desire and tangling together
in the yawning slowness of time coming over us
vital and cumbersome and inevitable
that loveliness sinks into the lush looming green.

Bearing salvation blissful in all of our ravages
so much slower in its falling down.

Lulling where I have hurt to love you
and sealing poem's blood thunder in the heart
sealing the ache of honey from endless dripping...
the bees come over us, so cobweb soft
the gossamer... of wisdom, swanfeather fate.

At rest is wanderlust, settled like pollen dust
at rest is avian spun-silver chantery
at rest the shimmering catch of the butterflies
no longer blind in desire, sudden
now soaked, stand here waiting and knowing.

Knowing in the serenity of the inevitable
Knowing you must return, to this
this knot that holds us both forever.

I know you must return
and know we must
come tumbling like stars
to blossom dust.

And even when I swooned among the starry dawdling
of dandelions, and meadows measureless abloom.
Blowsy with glory and cumbersome with beauty!
and tears fall like dewdrops to the listening earth
same earth beneath us, and is always that.
Same sky above us, and always.

And do you know what?
I love you better now.

Looking out over meadows and drowsy fields
dust of gold or silver, and thinking, this
is where I want to be, tangled with pollen
in your arms touched with life and tumbling down
garlanded with riddles and flowers, made holy with them.

Holy lush green
And the summoned red of our blushing blood
Gold of the pollen and sun
White as the bones of loving and knowing
all here, white as swandown, white as stars
and white as time.

I promise you -
There is a silver under all of this
there is a silent silver there to take us in
when nothing else will.

A silver to bind up wounds
and a silver to bind up wings.

The kiss of sleep.
And death, my dear
the gentlest touch.

[rosabelbelieve]

7.

Truth rearing up like the harsh stone-cold sapphire sea.
Truth like briny tangle and boulders of shouldering stones
as they lose their footing. Truth, like a prophetess
Arose in the tempest blood and chanted
her own death and her dread destiny out.

And destiny towered over the thundering waves
while I woke faraway in the land's lock
dream-tossed and shaking and haunted with visions of fire!
Haunted by my ancient disasters, my sparks and my salt of desire.
Dreams of stars falling and dreams of wasp blossom eyes.
Dreams full of harm as they toss in their stony sea-cradle.

Where is our end?
We must go through.
I cannot let you go.
All waters, foaming, full of poesis,
trampling and turning in their beds
of stone and muscle and glory and shifting skin.

In my dreams it bears me, flower-trodden to you
unraveling hair, nets of drowning, webs of veins
in lapis lazuli - eyes themselves oceans
heart become driftwood, tears and not rain on my face.

In dreams, I call disaster down from the sky.
Disaster and grief in the curse of stars falling from heaven,
and swarms of bees, spiders, that would bind up a breath
in silver and golden locks. Heart's veins ripped open -
Prophetess eyes, call down the end of the world.
The end of the world that would plumb and wash us clean
in its selfless theft and its excruciate pain.

These are my dreams of awe
my dreams of revelation.

Flood of baptismal ultramarine
and pain and love in every drop of blood of being a woman...
Prophetess of flames and hills and waters and blossoms...
I am, and death that will come only of my selfless hand.
Blood staining sticky as honey, sweet burning
Heart charmed open like a pomegranate.

And in my dreams I rise again, for I am all.
And you will find me there, past want and time.
And you will find me there past vengeful need.
And you will find me there all past desire.
And you will find me there, undersea city
And past all grief, for grief cannot endure.

For even in slumber
Our blood rushes like rivers in reverie
over stone and bone.

We will endure this.
Somewhere in this terror is salvation.
And we may find it, if in awe we tremble
But fear is burned away in stumbling radiance!
Our dim nocturnal sea-soaked journey undertaken
In veils of mist kept safe, gauze swaddling stars
Enrapt in the halo of light you surround me with.
We may pass here. This perilous mist-land
in which even stars must gasp and die.

To kiss the blossoms as they shut their eyes.
To kiss the stars in falling to demise
Stars kissed with fog and full of loss and sleep
Their twinkling milky eyes all closed to bliss.

And if you hold my hand you will be safe.

_

And these are dreams.

These are the ravishing spectres and mirages
and the illusions that hold fast so many eyes.
Nets and webs of them, thorned and bejewelled,
tossed up from the bedraggling sea that would have me sink.
Visions of loss and ravings of eternity
flash without words, disastrous miraculous flare!

Like summer lightning in fathomless velocity
quick as an arrow, supple as silver water
yet uprooting the terrible stormcloudy boulders
yet taking the towers of leaden magnificence
down, crumbling down, into loss and a sloughing of skins.

Immemorial stone-ships with footsteps of primeval thunder!
lose their leaden borders and their mortal seams
In a ruinous clamor like artillery
Golden grandeur of lightning!
A storm is prophecy, stern sweeping revelation
Unstirred sky and eternal stone.

Oceans toss within our blood and we are soaked.
Fires rage within living and we are burning, alight.
As storms move southwards, bearing with them harm.
Pass in the drone of thunder, hypnotic and deep.
I can hardly believe the way storms pass over the land.
I can hardly believe the way dreams pass over a body.

I can hardly believe
that I wake the warmth of a heartbeat
and your sweetest hand.

Tempests leave us with nothing but pure plenty
and cities drowsing in irrepressible green.
And restfulness, so truly and profoundly
laid down within the limits of time and space.

And leave us with nothing but the spirit of love
that is the spark of tender, looming green
that is the strike of the star-crushing thunder.
And the dawn that endures the stormy feet
of the mystic giants of heaven, as they lumber and stomp.
Ravaged undersea stone castle of the imperishable
anchored in the vaults of the firmament, anchored in awe.

Our love as a sapphire city endures
even a green that tramples cities underfoot.
Holy, precious citadel of the spirit of love
endures the weathered promise of eternity.

And storms are such a subtle comfort
for in the end - they are promises.
Safe fortress house of a human heart.

In twinkling nets lie promises all around us.
In webs of gold and spiritual bonds.
As we are shackled to sweetness, and drowsy with wings -
dreams of wings bound up in silver, perfect and big
Touched silently at the feathers with periwinkle
a promise of pure love and true love, all touched with dusk.
In twinkling star-interwoven sapphire beds
in misty-eyed sparkling slumberous swandown nests.

Who ever knew a promise could be such an anchor.
Who ever knew the spirit of love could catch stars
like fireflies, like fishes of the sky -
And keep hearts beating together, in safety and in awe.

Promises are the seal of stars in an eye
Promises are the last syllables of destiny.
The talismans of things you've said to me...
are precious beyond all of my belief.

Precious and strong as spidersilk strung with dew
Delicate as the wing of moths, rare as their touch.
Coming from nowhere among the wild paintbrush.
Stoking its furnaces of flower over the hills.
Charring the hillsides with fiery radiance
and stitching us back into fire and burning salvation.
Strewing a savage honey over smoldering heart...

I know. I saw them.
So beautiful I nearly called your name.

Amber and ruby snatched from the sun's crown
Savage incantation and flammable trance
Salvation in fiery dreams and words of glory
dark hand and swift turn of the wrist - mortality.
Desire trampling cities underfoot, insatiable.
Strange dreams catching fire in my hair
and all over me. Once I took your hand -
and walked through fire, harmless, unafraid.

So underfoot -
your treasured, precious heart
of love enduring. Underfoot
prevailing, cherished talisman.

For a word of tenderness is stowed within
the flames of blossom wanting ravages.

Your heart beneath
in bondage of a silvern silk.
As far as I can see, the drowsy fields
and summer drowning in her own blossom lament
In drowsy whispering fields that come to dust
and a thousand forsaken wishes stolen by wind.
Somnolent, swathing, silken and solemn silver
come swallowing the earth in a web of dreams.

But I will keep you in the drowning dreams
I will keep you in the swarm of silver and gossamer frost.
In summer's death, in bandagement of green.

Love is the hope of freight trains pounding forward in kindness
And I ran, skirts and hair windblown, all in awe and in tenderness!
That love is tangible halo, and all our senses come back to this.
Love as the sweetest net, to reel in poems and stars and butterflies..
And a poem that's not mine as it trembles and glows in my hands.
And hope trembles onwards in grace and in hopelessness
as a gift I can't fathom lies still and speechless as a sphinx.

Our precious city.
Dear immortal city of no end!
No dream could wash away,
no burden bend.

[Al Truest]

My gosh Rosa you've been busy. I will comment more after reading more thoroughly. But my first impression is that this is very good work. The imagery and the flow are just superb.

[rosabelbelieve]

Thank you so much. I thought that you might like them.

[Barry SR Gowing]

Oh rosa, I think you may have outdone yourself!

I've read it all, but I think I've only properly absorbed the first three parts at this point, so it will take some time to really come to grips with the whole poem. It's quite astounding though

--Paul--

[rosabelbelieve]

Wow, thank you! I'm glad that the effort they took seems to have paid off, and I am rather proud of them myself. ;D

[tannis]

Hello Rosa, I agree, it's wonderful work! I have read it through and printed a copy to read at leisure, as it's quite an epic! Well Done!

[rosabelbelieve]

Thank you so much! I'm flattered that you printed a copy and would care to read it at leisure.