And into their hands
as so many pebbles
And into the wind
as so many seeds
And washed away
as so many castles of sand
three hundred dreams
three hundred families
three hundred times three hundred lives
juggled
tossed
lost
as if a game
as if ink on paper
as if some-thing-else
could be blamed
Such is command
such is power
where stewardship
is not a word
or idea
or plan
Rather the difference
between
help and hurt
hand and heel
heaven and hell
between what was
and what is to be
between the legacy
and the damnation
So into their hands
choices made
And into their mind
is the question laid:
two families?
or three hundred?
5 comments:
The poetry of pain. I know not else how to put it.
That is so ominous.... The fractal is equally dark... I can hear organ music in the background... You're going to make me afraid to go to bed tonight...
I love how your words stir my imagination every time, so powerfully evoke emotion, Tree !
Thanks Annie. I wish I was there to comfort you in the dark and protect you from my own words of quill and brush. I have a few ideas to take your mind off of all things ominous. :-D
This reminds me of a child telling a story, not language, but urgency, passion, inspiration, the words tumbling forth because there are so many, there is so much to tell, and nothing must be forgotten, and the reason must be conveyed, conveyed to be understood, the wanting to tell of the dream, or the experience, or the game so that the person listening will know as though they were there. Alliteration and repetition are part of what gives it that sense of fervour, the different expressions to convey the same idea, as in the as ifs and the six H-words, there is a ebb and a flow to it, or rather a momentary retraction and a stormy advance, retraction when question is asked, strangely, or acknowledgement expressed, and the storm, the rises that take the breath, are the endeavours, out and out and out, until there is no more breath to give. It streams the consciousness when reading, overwhelming like being flashed with a hundred images in mere seconds and one feels giddy as the mind is still spinning, slowing them down, after they have stopped, to examine them in turn. Along with the multiple explanations, the quickness conveys the snap of the movement, a toss, flung, gone, the seeds, there but not. I love the style of this for reasons that I cannot define, better than the above, the storm, the child, the urgency, the flash. Brilliant.
What can I say, from the mud of shite comes the most beautiful lotus. :-D
You, my dear Sunshine, will forever be the lotus of my blogging life. :-)
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