Saga Of The Spark, Part 4 - Poem by Rosa Hadley
In my own world unending
and with so many endings.
In its clumsy cumbersome lovely
grieving mending tenderness.
A salve of verdant slumbering staunching silk
over the ancient, ancient wounds of land
and ancient mouths of need all opened up
by milk and feast and by the pollen kiss.
The rosy mouth of need is not yet closed
by green slumber and pollen-heaviness
And the beauty unbearable that can do nothing else
but tremble, at last to sleep and oblivion.
Beauty unbearable, turns only of itself.
Star dying of its own unbearable radiance
Perfection expiring of its own luminosity.
But always luminosity prevails...
Most unbearable of all
is eternal luminosity.
Immortal beauty, most excruciate
for it never decays, and holds decay within.
is your mortal loveliness.
Your worrisome finitude and your enduring heart.
One is awe and the other is tenderness.
And the flood of both, it feels so much the same.
As the fields of pollen drowse in gossamer
a spiderweb to bandage blossom woe.
And the stain of wine and blood is over everything,
besotted dew-soaked poppies or flowers drowned
in nectar and green, so blind towards destiny.
And I know our years in paradise are numbered.
Until bearing beauty we can no longer stand.
As blossoms nod and hair turns to frost-silver
And love is doomed to ache and fall upon
The soft lush looming of the mending green
And finally to dreams and slumber, finally
to bliss. Can I hold on to you
so long enough to make it there,
to bliss? Past loss and fear
and mortal paradise.
In all this theft and plundering of summer
as honeybees they plunder, pollen to honey
pollen to their benumbing melodious thunder
As songs are plundered from their ancient bliss.
And bees bring slumber, bees bring blossom nod
bring wasp-kiss, seal of dreams, and honeycomb...
To kiss the blossoms as they shut their eyes.
To kiss you as closed lashes bear us home.
Yet when you have gone away
Poetry bleeds within me, like an ancient wound -
Smoldering heartbeat in the emerald slumber
I can't bandage or staunch
by any moderate means.
As blossoms nod and fall with thuds like heartbeats
lost to us forever, fathomless, forgotten dreams
In this slow benumbing month of summer slumber
Poetry bleeds - at the hollow you touch, the chalice you fill.
The itch of gold grown drunk and lazy
and loveliness is sinking into the lush looming green
in this aeon of slowness. The slowness of our aeons
as they fall like heartbeats from our paradise.
In this summer of need grown mute with bounty
kisses, blesses, blushing blossoms as they shut their eyes
to wasps and slumber-bearing bumblebees
come humming, honey-buried, in the fields
swarm so hypnotic and with such deafening glory.
I long for this. A paradise in loss forever...
I long for this.
To kiss the blossoms as they shut their eyes
To kiss the honey sealing in the comb
To kiss the dying poems that close to dreams
To kiss you as your eyes are shut to me.
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