The Roundess Of A Journey Poem by Patrick VincentBrown

Tell them I have departed at dusk,
Gone to where a dying vermilion
Orb knows not my name but will know
When I have written it in the
Flames. For I walk towards whilst the
The conflagration licks my nostrils and
I am content.

I walk towards where I intend to indent my shape
Within this ball of fire, this circle of
Dancing light yet as opaque as burnt skin.
And it is a ball like the world in
Which I, we, Presently inhabit. And
What does this mean?

It means that no matter how my shape is
Moved upon the sphere, no matter where the
Form is placed, it will always abides; nothing of
It is lost or impaired. The world is round and so
Is the sun and so is the soul and the same for the
Logic of things.

The sad old sun is round just as
The sequence that is the rain that quenches the rose
And procures a burst of annular growth. A child’s
Ball is round and so is life. Just as my flesh is
Burned by the sun and the ashes of the
Scorched corpse may fall

To earth and avail the rose on its journey,
I am round. Things are round and so is thought.
Move my shape around an orb and the form stays fast.

I will tell them I have returned at dawn
And I have walked through a fire of light yet
have come back none the wiser.