Song of Pond and Fire

[panta rhei]

I heard the song, not once, not twice but three, four, five, many times. I heard the song but it always faded as soon as the tune got hold of myself. And I stood listening amongst the shadows cast further from the warmth of their twins, creeping expectantly towards a union, then falling back to earth.

I tore off my mask and tossed it over to you, but you wouldn't catch it. It was a dead face, you knew, and you threw it away and it shattered to pieces. I was free. As for you, you felt more comfortable with your own mask which was softer, more flexible, and it fitted you so well.
I wanted to drink your energy and you wanted to keep it, and you were right. The implosion of language to the standstill of dust covered my tongue and my papers with luminous powdered words. I tried to swallow, to sweep them away, but couldn't. So I forgot.

By now I just accept the fact to catch fleeting sounds of the song every now and then. Whether I hear its sweet tune or not, I accept to live within it. This acceptance gives me strength. Far beyond all considerations, within my silence, I, too, sing the song and I don't give a shit if anybody listens. I long to be heard! No, no paradox in this. But maybe there is. I may yet come to it. Life is so full of questions, as you say. And answers, mind you. If anybody can put those together.

But you smile and sigh, you alchemize it all. Two hearts, one travelling fast around another's light pulse, and I am crawling between the grey scrolls of my brain, pushed off the balcony of reason.

Balance. Balance. The godess of dream is the moon. A blue beam falling right across my face. Your face. You must have been sleeping, I guess. I try to get hold on my slippery heart before wine and lust close over me. Madness is just a protective screen against the reason which marks you in your segment. A manifest of tortured pleasures, a longing, tarred and feathered, a bare soul, wide open to the nocturnal dance.

I am sheding my skin in the pale moonlight to expose my naked self to the velvet night. Like warm bedsheets left behind and forgotten, I am throwing off the crumbled fears of other evenings; words fall into line then in love with the song and I am just learning to awake with tears. And I will lie still in this silver puddle as if being hit by a flash or an echoe; the lachrymal refrain will continue across moonlit dust and years. Here it comes, my pallid longing, strong as the wild abundant rose. And I will unroll the greenish buds, dressing them in florid scrawls as I toss the petals of memory into the cycle of a crawling moon.

And the waters of these precious dreams dip through my fingers as I drink from the tranquil pond of time. Across this pool a song may fall when breath comes with a cry in the realm of shades.
It is almost daybreak.

Bathing in the warm milk of anti-knowledge I give to you the smile that sleeps beneath my fragile verses. I hear a song, once, twice, a thousand times like a radiant eternal flower, and listening I will find nothing but on its silken lips the tenderness of my life.

[Arcadia]

very beautiful, panta!!!!!!!

[~K]

beauty
like this
untouchable
flower
crumbles
mist like
vacuums
folding a
stretch
of wishes
come true
into the
sky of
possible
horizons