Through the branbles and undergrowth
Through Water and through Fire
Through the fleshy veil of humanity and desire
Through the orbed gateways of swirling gold and green
Here….
Here deep in the spirit of the soul lies the Temple
The apex of existing
The single straining note
That defines the song of self
Come – see what lies at the epicenter of my self and judge me dammed
Beauty was here
And gardens
With flowers glistening bejeweled
And fountains
Flowing with the ether of bubbling life
And deeply green trees
Bearing the exotic fruits of self ripe and heavy
And chimes hung in them
To accent the song of the heart
Dancing in the playful caressing winds
The aged and splendid gardens
Of a Fae soul
Seeded with the wimsy and wisdom
Of Home
Garnished with joyful growth
And the better trapping of a soul’s travels
Banners and bells, music and art
No more this….
All goes untended
Wild things grow, never seeded, competeing for life here
Chimes clang discordant notes
In winds unkind that buffet them about
Tearing the trees to shredded ruin
Bracken chokes the growth of the delicate buds
Making ugly and disordered the flowers
Struggling against death in vain
And the Temple….
The little shrine housing only one artifact
Plundered and soiled by the a thousand pilgrims
Who came for naught but to steal
The ragged and shredded remaines of what was me
The tapestry of my essence
The dangling rag
Once a thicky embroidered living picture
Now threads only strung together
with the stubborn unwillingness to fade away completely
Each passerby fingered it’s former glory
Each took with them some part
Stolen in the touching - only threads wisped away
Vandalized by jealous hands – damaged but not destroyed
Or were gifted with portions most precious
I brought the blade to it myself
For such is my giving
I give yet have nothing
So whence come the gifts?
The hidden coffers of the temple
The secret fabric of the soul
Standing in ruin hear me now….
When the last strand is taken
Or given freely it may be
The temple will lay empty
And I will cease to be
What was given was so freely
To heal in others their same soul
What was taken was not contested
Why waste my strength on me?
I might regret the loss
But I have given all regret already..
I might sorrow and mourn
But those are given as well..
The final threads remaining are only simple prayers
A prayer to be strong enough to see the end
To heal but one more soul while I still may
To forgive the wrongs against me
To be brave facing the final void
To take nothing and no one with me into ruin
To be, if only once, remembered
And this last I give now
To you…
So witness me, even if in my ruin
For when I am gone
It may be if my prayer is answered
That only a memory will remain.
