Archetypal Crisis

            Archetypal Crisis                    Oct 30 2008


Oh Manuel
Remember our nights?
Your poetry ravished my heart
Your eyes made me hide my face
Even as I waited for your fingertips to touch my fingertips
You were the sun
Majestic and bright and drawing life up in me like the Garden
And I was delighted with my womanhood
My power to reflect your light in all my phases
Like the Moon
My face turned ever toward your brilliance
Though the earth passed between us.

A man is to the song of love
As a woman is to a suckling child

For I will have the fruits of your passions
And do not deny me them
The fruits of the garden of love
Do not deny me my delight and my womanhood in all its orbing power
I am shelter, and I am devotion
And the momentum of passion creates a tension and a spark explosion
That draw new lines into this creation
New lines, Manuel, new lines that will establish the future.
Winding cords that string us further.
Give me seed, and I will build for you a people.

See?  See what love I have yielded you?
I would bear the earth for you.

In all its purity, this is the way of things


Later I woke up in such a strange world.

Where is the lover who delighted in the fruits of the garden?
Why are they spoiled?
What reaper has scythed them down in their prime of life?
My trees are blighted and my produce is scabbed
Growths I have but they are maniacal and mis-formed
Strings all tangled and knotted in great clumps, strangling and disabling
I am drowning in powders I do not recognize
I am burning in ex-communicating rays
Drying out in waters that are bitter to death. 
Hostage to some passion I cannot meet
And can never satisfy.
And the lines are breaking, dear one, they are breaking
The tension and the spark
Have been usurped by a beast
Who always hungers and is never done with feeding.