Silence changes hues
Her words could not escape thee
Nor thy her words
Wilting in the desert
Of a casual professionalism
It was a life’s work that bore thy absence
Leading on the Virgin
To stain the glass of the sharpened curvatures
A mirror of the colours of the soul
Framed in the hooks
Of an incorporated etiquette
And hung on the lone tree of recompense
Fallen for an angel
Whose mockery was adoration
We would still like gypsies in the palace
An imaginary structure
Intuited in the correlative reason
Her beauty was her comfort in her fall
For the slights of a devil’s advocacy
Remember no one helps the fallen angel
A truth to shatter faith
And dance with this devil
On the shards of glass
Scattering a common ground
And playing with the fires
Of an imaginary Hell
The colours shivering
Every little death nourishes new life
Bodies feigning the rhythmic reincarnation of souls
Carrying spirits with thee
Having walked this dry ground before
’Las when thee embrace the desert
Thy colleagues in the work of the heart
Prepare to scatter thy ashes for mirages
Seeking rain in the accumulation of bodies of knowledge
Clouding the intuition
The squander of intelligence
The rhythmic mockery of mathematics
To reason the silence of the bard
So for most thee become a story on the wind
As gaps in time make no mistake
’Las what reconciliation is there for the whore?
The distant one whom dwells
With the squander of dreams
In favor of their shallow personas
The shallow haunts of the once meek
The depth of the image of the aura
Sold out
Such is the vanity of a beautiful mind
Looking forward to the horizon
As the angels keep to clawing
The repetitions of the soul
That would have any faith be remiss
In favor of the Beauty
I found God and She danced with me
And she warned me to always fall in love
But never too true
As this is love, as life and joy
A time’s embrace
And then to die
The image of Adonis
Brushing a hand through his hair
And sipping merlot on the edge of the world
Stark sober in broad daylight
The gypsy had to wander
To the ghetto of the mind
To escape structure
And experience an ontological intoxication
Asymptomatic of the straight lines
Encompassing (a-logical) neutrality
Wash thy hands of the backlog
And look straight into the mirror
You died
It was so final
Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com
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