Mind in the material

Soul wept tears of blood as life drained slow,
the instrument of love did tear the flesh so deep,
as if the stars had written silent codes, destiny
determined, the aim to surely, slowly teach,
those secrets which the Self could find as gifts
in pain; that fortune found in suffering where
angels do ignore grief’s petition, and heart’s
needs, where innocence must weep in silence,
no matter how much justice thundered, or
integrity was subdued by the fickle hands
of fate, devoid of heart and compassion, no
solace to be found, torment branded deep
in bone, as hope lost breath and trust did
shiver, hurt was cracking sternum, opening up
the cavity, that memory could fall with black,
singed plumes and spirit pushed at the edge
of brittle shell, like nautilus, yearning for release,
and the afterlife, where the past, like rust had
crystallized, decayed and dark, and future
held horizon, shining, watered, that hidden delta
of possibility, as the watching god in fecund pose,
held tightly closed the aperture which led to paradise:
so was the mind entwined in this material world.

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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