Tears Of Sage
Delicate wisdom begs
To resonate from her speaking lips,
To be carefully poured
Into ranges of basins,
Imploring desired listeners,
And sent with Godless prayers in feverish wantings of reception.
The thickened drops descend and splatter like vermillion blood,
Clotting and saving,
And scabbing deeply
Before a foolish hand picks them away.
The fresh wound takes refuge in yet another innocent entity’s flesh,
And yet another foreseen poison leaks by
To seep deeper and deeper within.
Their deaf sense refused them the mercy
Of knowing what shattering floodgates would bring,
Of beholding who already drowns in their tainted waters,
Of chances to change what does not have to be.
She had tasted this vision
And vainly sought comfort in
A single, hopeless, plot:
To trade their petty fetishes for the premonition
Of what is, what could be, and what shall forever remain,
Should her ‘insanity’ not take root
In their conscious humanity.
But alas, the bleeding words fall upon
Forcibly deaf ears
And ‘sane’, conformed perspectives.
Her passion and emotion are indescribable:
She wishes not to live
For heartbreak fear,
But should she resolve in her wanting to die
Who would drink, sip by numbing sip,
The underlying, salty despair of society,
So that they may not have to endure as much as the great Atlas
With the world resting on his wizened shoulders?
Her efforts prove to be bittersweet,
For on one plane, they cannot see that which she chooses to
Pile in soils of parallel universes,
So that they may not suffer, as she forever has, beyond a soul’s comprehension.
On the other plane, she reacts
Like a human mood ring
To satisfy their tragic oblivion,
Even though the desire to shake them from this heirloom slumber
Pounds faster than any dead or beating heart.
She, herself, is guilty of innocence,
Unknowing why they cannot believe or alter
Any of their cruel, beaten ways,
That which may be found
In all forms
In any and all of those who forage on this earth.
Oh how could they be so blind, so ignorant, so…lost?
How could their mother and father
Not give a similar home for their forsakenness,
Just so they may glimpse,
A mere fraction,
Into what she beholds in her x-ray eyes,
To feel that which she lives and breathes
Day after day,
Night after night,
Life after life.
This cage of premature heartache for strangers,
And of terrorizing prophesies for those she loves,
Frustrates her beyond any force known to them or the god they beg guidance for.
She pleads and pleads in infinite voices,
Hoping that maybe
Someone will decode
The clear frequencies from where she resides (far beyond the starry cosmos).
A child, a woman, and an elder all cruelly forced into one essence,
Seems to live for but one excuse:
To hold rank as the eternal
Messenger of memories,
From both past and future.
The one who stares into a mirror
That does not only reflect herself,
But the ten thousand years
Of trillions of ancestors
And potential generations
That cry out in her for their deliverance.
She had but one intention:
To un-blind their milky white eyes
From the shadows and lights that mockingly dance before them.
While you may only think,
She’s already thought.
What you may do,
She has done.
As you seek,
She has held what you have only discovered
And as you dream,
This white angel-fiend savors every footprint and unmarked page:
Fighting for you, for your children,
And that which lies within all of us.
While you may only remember,
She will never forget.
Here and eternally,
In this dark midnight hour,
As you sleep inside your rage,
As you thrash and cower in days of gray,
The maiden trembles,
Tears of sage.