To the Sorcerer

I would imagine thee with gossamer hair, whitened not from age but prodigy.
Your enrapturing eyes, the color of molten ice. Crystalline, your soul
whose subtle nuance works magic.

Fire from air, ice out of mist, supernatural acts denied to exist.
Current from cloud, quake in the slew- arcane spirit, alchemy true.
The darkest twilight cannot hide your sadness nor fearful sight of others.

Apart, alone, adrift, you are the stuff of fantasy, metaphysics, ritual.
Alluring magus, do you dazzle with wisdom or charlatanism?
Diviner, evoker, and conjurer you are. Thus, I dare not speak your name.

NEON

Liberty floating
through a tube.

From each glass bend
flees the inert phoenix.

Is it just light
or freedom?

The hum
of atoms rejoicing?

If the tube at
any point should break.
the wings will spread
untouched into the sky.

Forever a flight of
bouncing feathers.

Envious am I.

Final Cognition

Dies irae, dies illa, solvet saecula in favilla.
- "Day of wrath, lo, this day of mourning, the world in ashes smouldering."



I and the Apocalypse, an affair never ending,

Only when the moon glows red, skies streaked with meteors, will I
rejoice in the end.

Fallen halo at my feet. Scattered feathers of death's angel.

If only human eyes could behold this ravishing sight: destruction

an ending to ignorance.

Fickle mankind burying their bodies in entropy.
Matter no longer conserved, energy stopped; the last of all things.

The names of those I never met go amiss. Fingernails, lashes and locks return to dust.

I watch fire consume. Soot of gold and crimson. Day of wrath
ascending to its place.

Eyes saturated with red, matching all before me.

Dark wings unfold.

Mother

Covered with dirt, you saw the angel.
Tearful, you wrestled your child from a dragon's jaws.
Bloodied with sorrows lodged in your chest like
seven arrows, you stood.

Eyes so pure, glancingtowards death.
Even in blue night with the
heavens at your back, you wept "fiat".

Every step empty til the second coming, you trudge
offering hand to unholy ones who defile
....those lost children.

You catch their cries in moonlight
longing for your lap as did their Lord
on the moonless night he was tortured

.Now a crow or sparrow mourning there,
Only you...
A bent figure, clutching white roses,
the moon at your feet.

Musica

"Let there be lights in the dome of the sky to seperate day from night. Let them mark the fixed time: the days and years and serve as luminaries in the dome of the sky, to shed light upon the earth." - Genesis 14-15

Heark ye! Hear

the music of the celestial spheres twirling.

A crystaline octet

frozen in gases of time

singing eternity.

Pull upon the cosmic purse strings

which dangle in darkness-

star-stidded and flawlessly designed,

like the laws of matter and motion- precise

their inertia, logrhythms and endless figures

danging above us.

It all started in a bang

evolved and flourished to this great tune

perfectly orchestrated- song of life.