Floundering
falling down stairs laughing as I crack my head
somersaulting
across rush hour traffic, often I wonder why my
consciousness
and perceptions are merely a pocket pen flash light in the vast
darkness.
Something akin to a stylus scribbling across the universal darkness
scrabbling
Imagine
yourself in a hushed expectant theater seven seconds before the show
a
pin of light illumines the curtains and a hand appears to emerge
beckoning
come
hither
go
no
go
terror
curiosity
. . .
a
fool for love I race into the void
The
last thought before submerging in rest unconscious
awakening
aware that I owe so much to the hitherto random kindness of women
whose attention was dropped as the Widow's Mite—two cents
equivalent—into the bottomless well of my self loathing
depression's
despair
heart
subsiding into stillness
last
breaths panting
a
fool for love I took prisoners along the way then sensing I owned
them but became owned. Enslaved to Their Authority and at that I
bridled and ran leaving the mementos of love behind memories as
particles carried forward guilty of the singular sin of adoring them
endowing them as GOD! Women, of course, are persons sans gender as
angels are and in some vast sense resent the rarefied air atop the
pedestals I placed them upon.
Long
removed, exiled from, the womb and mother giving birth to me, i
recognize only now myself given birth by each and every woman whose
initial fleeting or lasting kindness resurrected me from a previous
living death
Guilty
as charged scourged and gibbeted dying again for loving too much a
mere mite for their task of giving birth to the all of life.
Here
we go again!
Well
aware long long ago time amusements began with the 'holy show'
worship; a time set aside from the ordinary to acknowledge the
extraordinary . . . a momentary quiet allowing the silent to be heard
into which music, song and dance were cast performed however now for
me for you for all of us is endless din
wall-to-wall
chaos
noise
abounds
distractions
prevail
of
which and about I obviously am a player
just
another noise maker a wee-wee whistle
but
there is the stillness of slumber and dream in which I see things
differently
knocked
unconscious with awe clubbed to reverence
Wile
E. Coyote bouncing back up atop the precipice
“One
who knows how to show and to accept kindness will be a friend better
than any possession.”
-
Sophocles
130513
03:00 beloved
©
2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved
