Wednesday, February 24, 2010

The spark of truth

It was a breath scanning many years
before the exhale
and this breath a hurricane
that mingled truth with untruth
until so well entwined
they became as one.

It is this “one” that haunts a mind
now that the breathing’s done
and it’s known to be the ghost of past
that will not lie down dead.

It’s immune to all my rituals,
my incense, candles, mind,
and merely grins most wickedly
at intent’s ineptitude.

The ghost, this ghost, my only ghost,
nameless in the ether
but in the feel a spark of truth
rises time and time again
and burns within a passion
that will not lie down dead.

And when, and when, I lie down dead
‘twill be as one unmoved
by that spark’s wish to rekindle
what on earth remained unseen.

And that spark of truth will fizzle, die,
amidst residual memory
of all the many untrue sparks
that grew a fulsome fire ~
and I mourn now its demise