An Illuminating Darkness

One man, one moment, a storm, and the intensity of insight.

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Incoming waves thrash an old seawall as, once more, its timbers stand. The howling winds uproot trees, exploding their bodies into the air. Thunder cracks, the sky falls, and strings of light brighten the darkness. The ferocious storm rips the night; and I am incredulous of and at a loss to define, the vestiges, the mysteries of purity, paradox and power. Such magnificence could do less than mystify and although the allure sweeps me away, considerations of another passion intrude. I love my profession; but lately, and unfortunately, it feels less exciting, unimportant, and even undesirable.

What once was, now, decays; and beneath it all, somehow, I must understand. The mighty pool rises, dismantling the seawall; and as its timbers tumble, I am reminded that of all we  are, all we may be, and no matter what defines us, but one force determines human existence; and, it is not man. For, and as shown here, one breath of nature not only escalates, but devastates us; and although sucking her breasts is sweet, we must carefully cling; and ever be wary and respectful of her will. She is Mother.

(I scurry to shelter, the salty air inflating my lungs; and although exhilarated, I am saddened that professionally, I cannot breath. Strangely, by searching the mind I find the heart.)

The intensity of the storm does not diminish hunger; and although, spectrally, the Seagulls are shadows, their squeals resound clearly. One imagines the peril the birds face, as hunger drives them, deeply, into the seas. Tonight: The magnitude of a harsh climate curtseys to the majesty of the Celestials, as everywhere, the stars remain visible. This tender tapestry, this enigma, is almost unimaginable, unthinkable and even unbelievable.

This is Nature’s Stage: (And) a play written by forces greater (much greater) than man and elementally cast by characters whose names, truly, he could never know but applied to them so as to distract him (?) from the one truth he, actually, shares. His quests to understand, and even to help and although gallant, often demonstrate pretentiousness, self aggrandizement, rude awakenings, and sometimes, deceit Yet: Man struggles (he struggles) to persevere: Questions forever answers forever questions…forever…

Before me reign natural, and by some, even questionable events; and while inside me, live surging, conflicting emotions, adjoined by the occasional relishes of rage, I cannot help but wonder.

Honestly: How controlling of natural forces is man; and how forceful is he of him?

Thunder rakes the skies, immersing the canvas with an illuminating darkness; and as I observe the reparations, that is to say, how everything returns to its meaningful place, its natural place, somehow, (somehow?) it all… makes… sense.

Copyright (c) 2017 Delbert H. Rhodes

“Watchful Flies”

flyDoris’ day terribly ends. Trace, her love of many years, abandons her.  Sleep frustrates the tormented woman. Finally, her convoluted dreams soothe the hurt in Doris’ heart. Upon its walls, a strange poem offers peace:

 

 

Where go I
to find a place,
someplace, I need
to hide

What must I do
to hide my face
dare I, my faceless
pride

A quiet peaceful
loneliness, you
seek me, go away

They  hurt me so
my painful knees, I
broke them yesterday

This plate of food,
how do I eat, its taste
I cannot stand

My throat a web
of spider claws, I
feel its clammy hands

Upon a tomb my
name I read, written
by my fears

A dusty grotesque Eulogy
of wretched morbid
tears

Turn from me,
oh, do not stay, leave
me to my thoughts

To understand this
mind in me and why
to me it talks

The  warmth of you
I cannot feel
your searing cold
I dread

Dare risk I
the bold in you, melt,
should I instead

Inside my heart a
darkness looms, dare
I love you so

A tapestry of watchful flies
warning, “No,”
“please, no!”

The fate of love never risk
its ending is foretold;
watchful flies never bate,
thy youth is much too old.

Copyright © 2014 Delbert H. Rhodes