Grifas

written by an unknown hand

The Traveler's Tale | Fine Line Travels in the Dark | The Apolytrosis | The Fire of God

Fine Line Travels in the Dark

I: A Strange Discipline

There was this shard of memory before me --
have I mentioned this one time? --
as I searched along the path
the trees wavered in and out, breathing light;
it glinted like that, flickered once before me.
Has it ever cut to injure?
Has such a rapid desire ever consumed one so mortal?
This is by far the most dangerous kiss.
Shall I repeat for you?

II: Revolving Circles

There was this strange discipline once
about revolving circles full of heliotropes;
all measures, all devices.
It consumed the very souls of the Living
such that they could become Dead.
Everyone was engulfed by the rapid arms of chaos,
a form of Darkness as winged beast enfolding.

All like ruminations of said mind grew.
Soon, no one was left: Hollow shells
moping the Earth, blurting
Divine Wisdom, sweeping up the dust.
Did one come?
Have they reassumed their shells?
Taken up positive thinking?

III: The Fire

Let me describe to you this fire I saw burning:
It was high upon a mountain,
so high the clouds could no longer climb.
No smoke from this fire; no sign of burning.
There were things around it, white winged
bestial miracles dropping bodies into the flames
as the flames grew wider.

A snake had lived below the heat,
watching me, and it bit me.
The blue sky went black such that
I could glimpse all manner of possibility.
I saw Heaven in my darkest hour;
the snake showed me the Perpendicular
(this came to mean all reasoning),
but when I awoke, the flames burned on.

IV: Geometry

"All forms of geometry have become One,"
the snake explained quietly.
It wasn't sure how this could be: "A history
of God and still
all geometries have become One.
There is sacredity in diversity;
now we all must become one
according to the Transcendant Nature."

"There is this single problem:
Having taken two to birth, can it not be seen
that we are not one?
I have a belief in rivers and hills..."

V: The Door in the Hills

Am I the only one to notice
these frozen green waves forever
threatening the valley shore?
Like forced, marching armies
as far as I can imagine
they push their fingers in.
Their power welders; lies dormant;
needs some chance to reflect.

Someone knocks on the Door.
It has been left ajar; I urge them in.
Far beyond is brightness:
The Light about which these Hills have kept
quiet for all long Time,
spanning distances of cultures,
lying sanely in wait.

VI: The Fine Line

Where is the fine line between dream and vision?
Fantasy and reality? Sacred and profane?
Captivity and freedom?
A very fine line indeed,
or maybe none at all.

Ghosts bleeding, flowers dying:
All forms of matter are crumbling,
yet I sit here empty and pray
I know exactly what this means.

The Apolytrosis