Initiation

It is loss which dismembers us,

severs head from body in the cave,

fillets flesh and scrapes it from the bones,

rips out guts and hearts to be consumed,

reminds us, in the agony, of why we are

called to become, more than we have been.

 

As each eye sits, watchless, at the side,

and limbs are jointed and torn apart,

so is the Self reduced to small, quiet pieces,

and the task of resurrection, can, in time begin,

in darkness, and in suffering which is not believed;

birth can be brought from the very gobs of life.

 

As hook and knife and anvil do their work,

so what was known is dissected, pulverised

upon the hard, unforgiving, breathing stone,

and blood runs, freely, lightly into crevices and cracks,

pouring hope and vision into that which was cold and dead;

sacrificing in ironic clench, all that was once called truth.

 

Distant songs will drive the work of restoration,

to sing through notes sublime and cellular,

as destiny draws itself from dregs and liquid dross,

and daemons craft with small, fine hands new weavings,

which connect, what was, to what must be and ancient dreaming;

initiation will, in time, repeat, and circling, fall complete.

Advertisements

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s