In the circumference
of this brooding night,
When once-lost
history’s found a living thing
And strange abstraction
forms a perfect sense,
All words hang
limp, unused upon my tongue.
Compassed in
the silence of small-houred faith,
Whose words should
I heed on this seedless soil?
No wise man,
nor his star-eyed pilgrimage,
Convinces me
his objective exists.
If I should close
my eyes and walk the dark,
Saint and sinner
would have me follow blind.
In the circumference
of this brooking route,
As the clock
strikes that most solitary hour
And even fact
a wary aspect wears,
I veil these
dead and dying in the dust
Whose dynasts
ever reign among the graves.
Then so reduced,
the ruin of their truth
Cannot explain
the source of my denial;
Within a soul
that harvested surmise
This notion’s
sparked and yet no trouble’s born.
The seven candle
flames are burning low.
In the circumference
of this breaking light,
Untouched by
human error, nor revered
By those who
father guilt, do not forgive,
I contemplate
the nature of defeat.
Yet had I known
that death’s decaying hand
Would pierce
the mortal point of the charade
Then I should
not have cursed a bastard act.
But, seething
like creation’s breast, I burst,
Explode at the
assumption I cannot
Remove the burden
baptism has bestowed.
In the circumference
of this breeding doubt
The poignant
thought belatedly arrives,
In time to resurrect
my fossilled heart,
All truth is
forced to live inside a lie.
From sudden revelation’s
planted seed
Was blossomed
first the act and then the need -
Crossing continents
at the speed of love
To places temptation
takes female form,
Before this new-found
faith could fall from grace
I found myself disciple to a dream.
