Hung, like Odin on the tree, or Inanna, naked, hooked,
and the sanguine fool, upside down, still smiling, patient,
waiting for the healing, which must and will come;
not to be resisted, but embraced; the lesson salient,
so is the work commenced and held in place that wholeness
may be found, created, birthed; the Soul made radiant.
The archetypes abound, reveal the lessons that we need,
as image, sense, dream and feelings so profound,
and still we fight relentless, holding onto what has been;
refusing to give way, relinquish long-dead ground,
where rotting corpses lie across synaptic, hidden waste
and death demands it’s price, slow feeds the ravening hound.
It’s only in surrender that the work is ever fully done,
for fate does guide who will, and drags regardless, all the rest,
knowing that the call to being is the greatest, vital force;
life released, an arrow across time from birth to end,
for firm and feathered flight, eternity does surely measure,
then upon the cross of days, deep nails of night, the ego bends.