Old Soul


Old am I

Born of void, twin to stars

From same womb expelled

Naked in the most absolute

Terrifying completeness

Awake and wide eyed

Riding waves of coruscating fire

Bright burning arrow flying

Toward open, unending promises.

What a long, strange trip

Sleeting through the space

That was just filled with space

Skipping ropes of astral dust

Color becoming shape

Sudden sound pouring out of silence

Turntable galaxies spinning

Orchestral tuning hum

Precursor of musical spheres.

Free form spinning

Fingers still dripping dark matter

Strings tidal tug insistent pull

Downwards, inwards crashing into

Deep blue something

A new watery belly

Fresh clothes if first flesh

Bounding the boundless

Life cleaving to consciousness

Poor clay screaming from fresh pink lungs.

Formed but still fluid

Iteration variation

Building the complex upon bare bones simple

Squirm wriggle flopping

Swimming through new seas of deep stars

How long from fins to fingertips

From fathoms upwards

Tendon tearing claw crawling

Panting on shores unspoiled

Leaving behind first footprints.

Lives shed, old clothes discarded

Rags of skin littering the floors of time

Ocher rust figures

Shadow dance into painted urns

Bull dancers gleam oily nude

Slipping between reed scored clay

Tying speech to earth

Flip book flashes

Floods and fires

Gods hurling bolts from mountain tops

Becoming bombs whistling

Pale reflections of first causes

Rising in tumorous clouds.

A long blink of an eye

From there to here

Only dreams hold any truth

Of what I was

Remembered fitfully in poetry mumblings

Portraits of unbounded vistas

Captured in palsied child crayon scribbling

A creature of dust clothed in frayed finery

The soul they say is infinite

They neglect to reveal

Infinity is a long fucking time.

I am tired

Weary from aeon shadowed wanderings

Confused, lost, unable to escape

Walled in by pavements

All thought polluted, drowned cacophony

Wifi signal to noise white static

Plastic hungry fast food consumption sick

A famine of intellect

Starving while gluttonous devouring

Empty calorie sound bite media messages

Complacent sleepwalk shuffling

Down twisting coils of cool numb fiber optic

Silicon chemical dependent highways.

Sight is dimmed, narrowed

Eyes blind to wonders

By summer blockbuster glamour shot

Still sometimes open wide

True chord pure running deep beneath

Auto tuned bland talking face sonic trash

The pieces are still there

Hiding in the corners

So I pick them up

Sew the edges together

Bloody calloused hands desperate scrabbling

Pasting fragments to scrapbook pages

Where I can look and show and remember

When I was bright

When I was the first true love promise.

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2 Responses to “Old Soul”

  1. moved to comment but sat in stunned silence for fifteen minutes
    last line deeply true – a truth well-defined
    now the canvas is nailed up for all to see, remember your love’s two promises
    honour them with the best you have to offer – always

  2. 
Eyes blind to wonders
    
By summer blockbuster glamour shot
    
Still sometimes open wide
    
True chord pure running deep beneath
    

The pieces are still there
    

So I pick them up
    
Sew the edges together
    
Where I can look and remember
    
I am bright
    The first true love promise.

    Who knows what someone might take away from their contact with art?

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