The crippled soul divides and the scars of years fly away
|
like confetti on the desert wind.
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Phoenix rises - proud young wings reflecting amber.
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Solitary.
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Untouchable.
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Excited, and ready to search for his rose.
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But the flight lasted so long
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and those powerful wings grew weary as he padded through blind alleys,
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swooped open-eyed into blind curves
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and wasted night after lonely night trying to drink from a mirage.
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But no distraction could decimate the totality of belief,
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and his number came up just when the weight of his despair had him pinned to a rock;
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when the feathers of his wings had been shed
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and he stood naked before a disapassionate ocean of grey faces.
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His precious twin. His rose.
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Isolde dancing alone, then multiplying, inviting...so many many levels.
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And the crippled soul unites and prepares for the long journey home
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|
-----------------
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With Wings
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| The Tear Garden |
