Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Untitled Prose-Poem

~~ eerie artwork by JORDAN KRALL, ye kralling kaos ~~

I see you flying over me, inside the amber sky, and as I watch your ebony feathers fall, to me.  Although I am not a thing of tar, your feathers adhere to my being, clothing me in black ridiculousness.  Soft, midnight feathers, dancing in the gentle wind, and I dance too, beneath the amber sky, and purse my lips so as to echo your warbling far above me.  I see you still, now nude of feathers, pale freaks of meat and bone that circle in the sky.  Your crowing cries could tell me secrets if I understood your language.  Lifting my hands to my head, I pat your feathers deeper into my flesh, until their pointed tips pierce my brain.  Oh, then I visualize the arcane things that you have glanced while circling o'er the globe.  Ah, how my brain tickles with new perception, how my small eyes widen as I see the world anew.  I learn the idiom of wind, as sunset bleeds into the yellow sky; and as I lift my arms that daemon-wind takes hold of me, and I soar, a thing new-made, into the crimson sky.  There I hover, as blur of dark silhouette that fades as light of day becomes extinct, until the night and I are one.  And then the moon, thing of splendor, illuminates my wide eyes, and chills my brain, and teaches me the loneliness of dry dead light.


3 comments:

  1. Thank you Wilum for your writing. It is beautiful how an image develops through it and remains with one ever after. Retaining the quality of the mindforms and communicating them is a rare talent. I had some very sad and dark images this last two weeks following my own Mother's passing - she had liver malfunction and was on a ventilator - that I am desperate to translate into something transcendent but am unable to. Reading your words helps bring clarity to my mindfog. Thank you. Blessings. G. ;-)=

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  2. Thank ye for your beautiful comment. My fondest wishes to you at this time. My mother passed away in February, and the pain still creeps up on me. Living here in her house is an every-day reminder of what I have lost. The sadness can be unspeakable. But we need to carry on. xoxoxoxox

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  3. I was reading "Inhabitants of Wraithwood" in my wonderful Centipede Press edition (that I treasure) and realised what it is - there is a deep beauty and purity in your decadent prose that transcends even the darkest moments. That is just what I need. I am taking my closest pal to the "Harry Potter Studio Tour" here in the UK next week - and seeing my first year drama school teacher too - he is a fount of wisdom and is sure to have wise words for me - he once sent me a card that had the single line "In every sunset is the promise of a new dawn". Thank you for your words and kindness, you ease my pain with them. My very belated condolences to you on the passing of your mother. The wheel of life turns... and so must we. My thanks and Aetyrnal bright blessings. G. ;-)=

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