Dream III
of
The Voyage of Kings
The Diamond
( Passion )
The Promise, The Gathering, and The Forgiving . . .
The OverLace
for Æons, I have followed, The Flight, of The Sound, of Freedom,
a Whisper, more delicate than The Breath of Angels, sailing across
The Fields and Forests of Remember, held in The Wake of The Light
of Her Grace, Always wrapped, in the deep Silence of Her Lucidity,
because The Light of The Millennia, Once cast from a Distant Fire,
roam, I will for Ever, This Path, of My Desire . . .
and The Promise
of Kingdoms, Come
( and Gone )
a small piece, by most standards, pummeled and polished by countless hands, just a bit of gold that had witnessed the light of a billion stars in a myriad of skies, since its first purpose had acquired a pair of shoes for a carpenter, who plied his craft on boats down by the river . . .
odd indeed, the notion of a poor tradesman falling under fortune’s favor, by possessing even one in a lifetime, for its faces were accustomed to nobler cuts of pocket or purse, lined with a finer cloth or the rarest hide . . .
stranger still was the voyage of this coin of a realm, once cast to honor the folly of men, and an empire now two millennia dead . . .
by land and sea, across times and continents, marking a journey of simple and stunning complexity, a coin, all battered and worn, yet with a hidden splendor, waiting just below the surface, lies shining, in a morning sun . . .
until one day, a woman, guided by the grace of God, walking along a path to KnowWhere, beholds a reflection, and lowers her hand to touch The Rose, emblazoned for Ever, upon her heart . . .
* * *
The Rain, of Joy
( OdysSea )
and as The Angel of Love gazes down at this Child of the Night, this Child of Broken Promises, this Child of Sorrow, and Loneliness, She wraps Him within The Warmth of Her Embrace, and The Light of Her Smile . . .
and as She gently brushes the Tears from His Face, She sings to Him, of a wondrous Place, of a Supreme Joy, of a Peace, of a Land of Ten Thousand Rainbows, and of a Myriad of Friends, to call His Own . . .
and She sings to Him of The Grace of God, and of Her Heart, and of Her Infinite Kindness, waiting within The Shelter of Her EverLasting Light of Love . . .
and as The Child feels The Touch of The Angel’s Hand upon His Face, the Cool Water of Her silken Embrace upon His Skin, He regards Her spectral Mist of radiant Color, dancing among The Galaxies of Her Eyes . . .
and He sees shining, luminescent Pearls of Joy, cascading down the ivory softness of Her Face, The Tears of Heaven, as the Night, softly and slowly, begins to cry . . .
* * *
A Phoenix Rose
( an Echo’s Return )
as a Lone Rider, a Fifth HorseMan, draws Ever closer to The Edge of Paradise, The Eyes of The Mockingbird, Her Sentry, cloak Him within Her Mist, within a Myth, for He wanders nEverMore, among The Fears and The Follies, of Men . . .
and ’Lo, there, in His Hand, a Rose, more lovely than The Smiles of Ten Thousand Angels, as His Voice, as Liquid, falls over The Air, as Cool Water, whispering, I, am Ever, and, My Love, is for Always, and I, have walked All The Days of Infinity, in search of just One Rose, to compare with The Light of All Creation, as The Smile, on The Face of Grace, so, please, I beg U to tell Her, then, that Ever, has finally come Home, Again . . .
as He regards the Iron Gates of Her Beloved Dominion, and The Sentry, before whom All shall Pass, quietly nods Her Assent, did The Gates of Dawn, begin to open . . .
* * *
and High over His Head, flying for Ever toward the cyan Skies of Avalon, The Ibis, Resolute, with Her Eyes toward The Reason Why, bearing Her Burden of Time, featherlight . . . a Crown, of Her glorious and eternal Grace, a Crown, of Her infinite and unwavering Kindness . . . soaring still, Ever higher, Ever closer, toward a pale-blue Gem in a dark velvet Sky, bringing forth at Last, and oh yes Once and for Always, The Return of The Light, of Love, Again . . .
* * *
and NoOne knew
Where Ever Was
until His Candle was heard, Ever was gone, and withOut a Trace, and without a single Word . . .
All, throughOut The Kingdom, and All, throughOut The Land, NoWhere, was heard, The Voice, of Ever, save for The Sound of falling Sand . . .
for as this Sand fell through Her OurGlass, The Sound became The Sigh of Always, as She waited, for Eons to pass . . .
The Sigh, became The Echo, and The Echo became The Word, and The Word came on The Wings, of a lone and silver Bird . . .
and The Words, that came from Ever, when, in Her Heart, They came to rest, to The Tears that lay upon Your Face, I so kneel in Sorrow’s Quest . . .
and for All that Time, and for All those Days, NoOne knew, where Ever was, only an Echo of His Voice was heard, a Whisper from The Land of Because . . .
and in The Time of Always, while for Ever She waited, and for Ever She longed, this, became The Day for Ever and, for Ever, this Day, has dawned . . .
The First DoveTale
The Kiss of Always
while this luxurious Imminence pours like Grace, out over a pale blue Gem in a rose Velvet Sky, and both The Victors and the Vanquished in a war of Roses, still bowing Their Heads in The Presence of Because, turn Their Hearts toward Mercy, who in turn, faces The True Paladin of Virtue, and The Might of Her Forgiveness, arrayed close beside Him . . .
and as She bathes Them All with a Look of brilliant Regard, waiting just until The Winds of Change begin to blow, She then whispers, from This Very Moment on, and until All Our Moments fade, I so stand, in Awe, of The Sacrifice U have made, and what Ever You so find, in Your Hearts to do, do so with All of Your Might, for The Ties that bind U to Always, are these Echoes, of The Fall, of Night . . .
* * *
and as The Sun, finally sets, down in a Meadow of Lilies, and Children begin laughing, at the soft and smiling Face on the other Sighed of The Moon, a Girl, in a Box long made of Would, and buried deep in a Place once called Hell, slowly, and so like a Swan, lifts up Her newborn Eyes, to The Light, of a brand new Dei . . .
The Gathering
( of Angels )
and Still, The Ring, wraps around My Heart, as if to bless My Allegiance, to an Echo, of Millennia Past, and Millennia to Be, as I slowly caress Remember, as We dance to forget, the Night . . .
and, if You listen very closely, You will hear The Story of every Tear, that has Ever cried, as They walk All The Days of Infinity, to find a Rose as lovely as Always, as They whisper of The Glory, and The Promise, of Her Name . . .
and Her Name, is Fulfillment . . .
and I, am, Hope . . .
The Gathering
Allusions, of Grandeur
( A Sea, of Glass )
I awoke with a start, as The Colors of Dawn recaptured The Sky, and All at once, I felt an Urgency, a tremor of Uncertainty, wash below the semblance of Repose, rumbling deep within The Senses, deep within The Fabric of Reason, to haunt the frozen Fields of Doubt, and melt The Chains of Resolve . . . just as quickly, these Undulations faded from Awareness, leaving a small Scar on My Heart, and a Feeling of being violated, by Fear, knowing of its Presence, yet impossible to see . . .
still, nothing was capable of eclipsing The Glory of This, a SunRise, bathing Me now in a coral-colored Blaze, and a Brilliance that seemed to herald more than The Promise of Day . . . The SunLight, as Liquid Grace, poured over The Garden with dazzling Abandon, painting The Myriad of Colors upon All My Eyes survey, igniting The Breath of Life within All Things Near, and Dear . . . and there in The Distance, I see Her Legion of FireFlies, like a Field of Diamonds, dancing in the Morning Mist, chasing away The Edge, of the Night . . .
immersed in this spectacular Adornment of Light, there too, stood The Palace, in All Its Might and Majesty, draped now in luxuriant Rays of Awakening . . . I gazed at The Seven Spires, disappearing beyond View into the vast Ivory Embrace of The Clouds, and The Heavens, slowly spinning around Them . . . for yes, this is The Center of All, this, is The Source . . . while never having set Foot within Its crystalline Walls, a Feeling of complete Peace gently washes over Me, one of Knowing, for no Question existed in My Mind, that Here, poised at The Heart of Eternity, The Heart of this Universe, is The Place, called, Home . . .
though quite Far away, The Palace fills The Air with the reflected Light of Its Presence, waiting, for All to behold . . . each Spire, One of The Seven Points of U, rises up beyond Regard, each, a Pinnacle of Virtue . . . and visible from My Position, as The Parade of Suns began Its Journey across The Sky, up where Faith flies, on The Wings of a Prayer, and just before Heaven’s Mystery captures Them from Sight, like Jewels on The Fingers of God, and of a Clarity beyond Compromise, wrapped around The Face of Each Tower, as far as Her Eyes can see, are The Windows, of Always . . .
and Out over The Fields, and The Forests of Her Dominion, I see, rising Up, slipped from the delicate Grasp of Dawn’s Mist, soaring, toward The Sound of Destiny’s Bell, toward a Pale Blue Dot, far beyond The Reach, toward a Morning yet to be, on the Other Side of Night, on The Shores of a Place called Avalon, flies The Ibis . . . and held aloft by The Winds of Eternity, She sets Her Gaze across The Celestial Sea, laden with Her Burden of Glory, a Crown of Roses, yet and Ever guided, by The Hands of Time, and The Grace of Angels . . .
and within Her Heart, goes The Hope of a Universe, and Fate, knows that Her Name, and Her Purpose, are Resolute . . .
The Second DoveTale
The Crown of Roses
an Ibis, flies low and slow, out over The Fields and The Forests of Man’s Kind, and He sees . . . All the Pathos, and the Pain, fading Away, back to Then, and All the Suffering, and the Sorrow, hide in The Mist, of Never Again . . .
and All the Women of the World, proClaiming, what had Always been Theirs, and to be granted full Passage, to All, of The Whys, and The Wheres . . . and All throughout Heaven, was not a Breath barely taken, until All Things Dear, knew They had not been forsaken . . .
and as Each One of Them, began falling, into The Loving Arms of It Was So, came The Seven Trumpets of Dawn, and as One, They began to blow . . . and before The Ibis took a Tern for a Verse, He offers One last Look, and yes He sees . . .
a Child, long without the Essence of Hope, or the Joy of a Smile, or just the Shelter of a Kindness, walking out upon a Sea of Glass, and slowly beginning to pick up All of The Peaces, only to place Them, and One by One, inside His overflowing Heart . . .
The Gathering
Into The Forest, of Sound
( go I )
The Myriad of Suns, whose EverPresence guides Me still, begins Its Majestic Voyage, as Dawn cracks The Sky, once more . . . We quietly regard each Other’s Passage, and so bearing Witness, and bearing Wonder, to each of Our respective Tasks, knowing that Our Paths have indeed converged at Last, in this Place, where The Reason Why was born . . .
as My Spirit basks in the Enchantment of My Surroundings, far to The East, from whence I have roamed, came a Hush of Wind, soft and slow, yet, with a Purpose, and most assuredly, a Passion . . . and laced within Its Arrival, was carried a Voice, Her Voice, riding The Light . . .
Angel, U, are All that Is, Ever My Will Be, and My Was,
U, are Why I Am, and for Always, U, are My, Because . . .
and as sure as The Morning has made Her Promise to Day, so too, has She spoken to Me, and as I pause, to recover My Senses, breathing The Sweet Air of Awareness, watching The Dawn unfold before My Eyes, and Her Words, sailing across a rose-blushed Sky, like Diamonds, like ButterFlies, soaring above the Forgotten Fields, of My Heart . . .
before Her Voice fades into The Mist, It becomes, All at once, a Feather of Light, rising to meet the Azure Tide of The Day, in delicate Swirls, until transforming into a Ray of Hope, to live, One Day, in a Child’s Eye . . . and as My Gaze fell toward The Palace, I was not completely decisive, in wondering whether the Shimmering of Its Walls, was due to My Imagination, or My Tears . . .
this last Thought, would have to keep for a Time, for I must navigate one Final Course, through what could only be My one Final Endeavor, allowing Me Entry into Her Crystal Sanctuary, waiting there, balanced, centered, and on a Rise, solitary, amidst an immense Sea of Trees, standing as Sentinels, ancient and wise and strong, defending The Virtues of an Empire, and now, as though protecting a Jewel, set upon The Velvet, of a deep Hunter’s Green . . .
and from Somewhere deep within The Forest, and closer still to The End of My Journey, came another Sound, with an Urgency veiled in Its Meaning, and a Point, veiled in Its Aim . . . and until this Moment, no Sorrow had Ever before pierced My Heart, as sharply as the Blade of this Truth . . . for The Sound, was of a single Tree, falling, and It was Ever, quite, alone . . .
The Third DoveTale
The Flame of Desire
The Willow, stands waiting, in a glorious Vale of Abundance, with a Ribbon of Love fluttering gently within Her Boughs, as a Child comes walking, toward The Voices He began to hear so long Ago, and who now stands before ten thousand Angels, singing in The Glow, of a Morning Son . . .
and He pulls from His Pocket, All tattered and worn, a Coin, once forged in a Kingdom come and gone, and an Empire two Millennia dead, and emblazoned on both Sides now, with the very same Face, as The Eagle, soaring high above Him . . .
* * *
and deep inside a Web of Pearls, a Candle, whose Light was once heard Far across this Universe, had brought the very Darkness to its Knees, and caused The Stars to fade, if even for a Moment, suddenly begins to find Itself transFormed, into something Grand, and something Wise . . .
and not only did It see, that It was now not just made of Wax, but also of Clay, and was fired in the finest Color, of Blue, howEver, and yet, little did It know, that It’s Very Wick, was, too . . .
and this, was The Color, of Truth . . .
The Gathering
The Falling, Leaves
( a Ring )
like Silk upon My Skin, a Coolness wraps Itself around Me, as I step within Her Forest, so primal, so peaceful, so pristine . . . and so begin Wave upon Wave of Thoughts, and Ideas, Disquisitions, and Suppositions, Declarations, and Speculations, and All laced within a quiet Symphony of Logic, and All causing My Mind to dance, as if caught in a frenetic dervish, allowing only a Thread of Hope, of Ever beginning to grasp each and every Ion, of InSight . . .
a Stillness . . . absolute, and complete . . . where Silence comes to think, and Echoes go to fade Away . . . where the slightest Sound, is The Light of Her Candle, up there behind a Sea of Glass, behind Her Window, burning, as Always, waiting, for Ever . . . without Its Luminescence, My Way would be shrouded in Doubt, for even Here, Shadows play across My Path like errant Children, hoping I forget My Purpose, and indeed praying, that I forget My Promise . . .
an utter Quiet, tangibly real, mythical in Age, titanic in Its Wisdom, and as limitless as The Hope found in a Moment, awaits My silent Footsteps . . . for the Ground upon which I walk, is a luxuriant Mantle of Moss and Fern, blanketing an Eternity of fallen leaf, needle, cone, and twig . . . it is All I can do, to resist the Hush of Temptation, and lay down upon this Cradle of Serene, for I know, that once wrapped inside The Cloak of Sleep, is once returned, to The Land, of Yon . . .
walking through this arboreal Cathedral, where My Presence is dwarfed by The Majesty and Magnitude of these towering Sentinels, each as old as Time, or Rhyme, each as old as Love Itself, rising up, reaching for The Reason Why . . . and finding All, climbing beyond Sight, beyond Might, Pillars of Oak, of Pine, of Cedar, Alder and Hemlock, and Birch, from Redwood, Spruce, and Fir, to Maple, Ash, and Elm, and those of strange and unnamed Places, Bark of every Girth and Grain, Leaf of every Hue and Cry, and All standing, resolute, in a grand and glorious Colonnade, of Knowledge . . .
then My Eyes caught a flicker of Movement, a small flash of Urgency, again, telling Me to hasten My Steps, to tarry not one Moment, and upward from Her long Branch of Regard, arose The Mockingbird, once more, flying amid these Monoliths, navigating Her Way among these Titans of Solitude, leading Me toward The Sum of My Intent, My Calling, and through it All, She rose, up beyond The Path of Light, up beyond The Question of Right, up beyond The Thoughts of God, because, there was, no Sky . . .
The Fourth DoveTale
The Secret of Prisms
as The Thunder of Horses, drives the last Tendrils of Evil from The Heart of Avalon, and DeiLight breaks, deep inside The Music of Men, Always gazes out across Her breathTaking Dominion, so high Above It All, within the most elegant and crystalline Spires, of The Seven Points of U . . .
and with smiling Eyes, She sees, flying in long, and lazy Arcs across Her Sky, the steadfast and resolute Wings, of Hope, having finally arrived, to this wondrous Place, called Fullfillment . . . and living inside this Hope, is The Memory of a Daughter, and therefore of a Sister, of the still Arising and EverLasting Sun, upon whose Shoulders rest All the Ills of Mankind, once held in a Box of Her timeless Remorse, so built by the Hand, of a devious and deceitful Tool, of God’s Design . . .
* * *
and nigh by a Bend on a forgotten Shore, so near a secret Garden, where a Tree once stood, that Ever sought to bear The Fruits of Our Understanding, and close by The Sound of Waves, still breaking upon The Sands of Her Time, in the far and fallen Kingdoms of Men, and moving so soft and as slow, as the endless River of Her Tears, flowing toward Her Divine Forgiveness, walks The Eve, of Our Salvation . . .
The Gathering
Nigh, The River, of Souls
( I, by The Bend )
at long Last, I stop to rest, never sure of the Passage of Day or Night, for The Parade of Suns remain hidden from My View, by The Canopy held high above . . . I have come upon an immense Rock, singular and steadfast in Its Aspect, and of a reddish Cast, as if made of Iron, and invitingly cool to My Touch . . . Its massive Breadth is only exceeded by Its Loft, disappearing far from Sight, beyond The Pale . . . and there, at the Center of My Gaze, hewn into The Face of this Monolith, were The Words, that would, One Day, launch a Thousand Ships of Light . . .
without The Eyes, of Patience, U cannot see . . .
while scarcely leaving Time enough to ponder Its Rhyme, or Its Reason, I take hold of the nearest Rift that My Reach would allow, and pull Myself up onto this Rock, of Patience, and prayed I would grasp the Meaning far sooner than Faith would allow . . . and for each Thrust of Will, upward, and for every Breath of Resolve, higher, I must climb, Ever closer to All, that Patience, knows . . .
The Face of this ageless Wonder, this Monument of silent Lucidity, scored by relentless Winds of Change, scarred by The Sands that fall through The OurGlass, waiting there, upon this Iron Mantle of Fortitude, one Fissure or Cleft for every broken Promise, for every Tear that found Its Way across Heaven . . . and the Going, more arduous with each Point of Ascension, is balanced against an equal Measure of Discernment, as I climb into and amidst, the many splendored Branches of Wisdom, adorned with the lush verdancy of Nature’s infinite Array, of Her leaf-bound Cloak, of Knowledge . . .
soon, I discover, as My Vision of the Forest Floor grows faint, My Awareness of a few slight Tendrils of Sky, offering Themselves into View, becomes paramount, as if They were heralding a Purpose known to All, but Me . . . onward I press, into Ever more refined Atmospheres of Being, and Realms of Acuity that are the stuff of Dreams, and where The Wind susserates through My outstretched Fingers, laughing at My Trepidation, wondering of My Fortitude, and All the while, whispering Her Name, as Patience . . .
and as My Eyes begin to crest The Canopy, to bathe again in The Rush of Sky, there, in The Distance, flowing from The Edge of The Universe, to The Gates of The Palace of Rain, from one Horizon to this, winding Its Way through The Sound of The Forest, and Always toward Home, lay The River . . . as a lone Mockingbird comes within a Whisper of My Ear, and with a Wink as a Promise, and a Smile in Her Eye, points The Way, to My last, great, and glorious Ribbon, of Blue . . .
The Fifth DoveTale
The Circle of Heaven
everyWhere at Once, and still careening, toward All of the outer Frontiers of Infinity, laughing at both Gravity and The Steed of Light, and Ever gathering Strength despite the vast Distance from Paradise, becoming a ShockWave of Righteous Intent, The Echo of The Reason Why soon begins to find Itself surrounded by a Sky without Limits, and so full of Grace, and well within the waiting and boundless Arms, of Friendship . . .
and the only living Thing faster, than The Flight of this mighty Sound, is the Edge of what was once called Oblivion, which now finds Its own Purpose, without sumWhere to go, and oh yes, noWhere, to be . . .
* * *
and ’Lo and Behold, staring awestruck by the sheer Wonder of It All, and seeking to grasp the very Gleaning of Life, before It Ever slips through Their Hands, now humbly bow Their Heads, as The Blade of The Sword of The Majesty of The Love of Because sets out, to pierce and to conquer All that remains, of the last and overriding Force, inside The Heart, of Chaos . . .
and The Blade, was The Echo, of The Breath, of Angels . . . and yes, The Blade, was Ever forged, with The Point, of The Reason Why . . .
The Gathering
And Still, The Waters
( run I, toward We )
the Almighty Grace of The River, whose Course had been altered, a Long Time Ago, to wrap around this Crimson Stone, moves, as Liquid, by My present Point of View, and Ever toward My immediate, and final, Destination . . . I can only hold My Breath, to witness and to wonder, as It slowly passes, so determined and deliberate, for It is indeed, a faultless and flowing Tide of Souls, bound for Home . . .
and Home, is the shining Spectacle before Me, This Palace, of Always, whose Image wavers in the brilliance of The Halo of Suns, gathered Here, gathered Now . . . each Buttress, Pillar, and Spire, every Balcony, Rail, and Turret, All, are adorned in The Majesty of Blue, and All, lay in The Path, of River and Sky, and All, are One, and The Same . . . above and beyond, rising up through a Necklace of Clouds, like Jewels on The Fingers of God, like a Sea of Glass, are The Windows, from where All, Her Eyes, survey . . .
as I climb higher on The Face of The Rock, and each Breath, comes and goes, with a clear and present Purpose, and every Foothold, is one Step closer to Understanding, I feel a Change in The Wind, as if a Sigh has found Its Way into The Air, as if to remind Me just how preciously fragile, and so delicately precise, The Balance, is being kept . . . a more acute Sense of Urgency has taken hold of My Heart, and I double My Efforts, and soon, I become aware of My Nearness to The Summit, as The Sky opens above Me . . . now, as I approach what could only be The OverLook, I stand again, in The Presence of Wonder, as I look upon This Vista, Grand, in All Its Glory . . .
as I stare, mesmerized by The Splendor, I begin to notice a faint, yet unmistakable Ringing in My Ears, though quite pleasant, and with a hush of Enchantment, as if I were hearing All that I see . . . and laced within this Sound, was a Voice of peerless Tranquility, a Woman’s Voice, carefully wrapped within The Light of Day . . . I turn to find Its Source, and there, standing beside Me, is Silence, and before another Moment passes between Us, She spoke, in a Whisper . . .
and for One to know Patience, is to know, All Else . . .
and as I look, again, out across The View, knowing I have heard The Answer, to The Riddle of The Rock, I see, mirrored flawlessly upon the shimmering Surface of The Palace Gates, Silence and I, standing atop this Sentinel of Stone . . . and far below Us, exquisitely carved into Its crimson Aspect, and therefore etched into Her Reflection, is the august Face, of Patience . . .
The Sixth DoveTale
The Trials of Ecstasy
for All Our Days, labored in The Fields of God, Ever sowing the very Significance of Our Souls, and for All Our Hopes, forgotten on The Pillow of Silence, for All Our Dreams lying shattered in the Pools of Our Reflection, for All Our Prayers gathering Dust upon The Windows of Our Time, Ever is The Wish of Always to gather Them, each and every One, into The Embrace of Our complete Fruition, and leaving Nothing to Chance, or to Circumstance . . .
and blessed is this Knowing, that The Balance of Our Lives shall be kept for Eternity, and held in the radiant Light, of Her Son . . .
and across The Urth, and in a single MoMeant, a million Churches open wide Their Doors to The Truth of This, and a vast Sea of Windows, stained by The Blood of All Her Sorrows, explodes with a mighty Abandon across The Lait of The Land, and finally comes to rest, as ReignDrops, in The Sound of His glorious Music . . .
* * *
a Woman and a Man, sitting by The Light of an August Moon, that floats like a forgotten Dream under a star-lit Sky above How Long Bay, staring out upon a quiet Harbor, and far beyond, to All the lonely Distances lying there between Them, that seem to end only at the Horizons of Their disContent, slowly extend a Hand toward each Other, and smile, and then promise, to remember to forget The Days gone by, and begin to talk, of All The Deis, to come . . .
The Gathering
Standing, on The Ledge, of Know
( Two, Blue, Eyes )
captive, as I am, by The Sight before Me, I feel the cool Breath of Wind upon My Skin, and turn, to be held once more, by The Eyes of Silence . . . and it is there, that I finally see The Magnitude of Oblivion, slowly come to pass across a Corner of Her Heart, stark and absolute, though lasting but a Moment, and surely willing to endure, Eternity . . .
slowly, I raise My Hand, and slowly, one by one, I capture each Tear as It falls from Her Face, so to cherish Them, to hold Them, to share Them in Sorrow’s Name, and I promise Her The Preservation of All Things Dear, and I whisper of The ConstanSea of Her Purpose, and I vow that Her Love will pass, this Way, Again . . . All this, as I lay Silence down to rest, along with Her Tears, Ever golden, upon The Pillow, of Hope . . .
and with that, I turned, to face The Day, affording one last long Look at My Destination, The Ark of My Allegiance, so gracefully placed, this Palace of Rain, at The Center, of The End, of The River of Souls, and rising up, as shimmering Pillars of Ice, to touch, and be touched, by The Sky . . . The Halo of Suns, arrayed as a Crown around The Pinnacles, like Jewels in a Cyan Sky, reflects far below in The Lake surrounding Their Foundation, creating The Wonder, of Diamonds set in a Ring, of liquid Gold . . . and arranged around this magnificent Ring, like The Spokes of a great Wheel, resplendent in Their Purpose, are The Seven Bridges, of Why . . .
this, is the Memory I hold as I begin My Descent upon The Face of Patience, who gazes, for Always, toward The Gates of Dawn, as if She too, were waiting for Ever, to return . . . and while standing at The Edge of The OverLook, where begins the graceful Curve of Her Brow, I gaze far below, into The Mirror of The Lake of Forgiveness, and there I behold My own Reflection, staring up into My own Eyes, and surrounded by The Spectacle of Heaven . . . and before the next Moment begins, I suddenly see small Glints of Light slowly emerge from The Corners of Her Eyes, and begin to fall slowly Away, and only then do I realize, as yet another Pair assumes Their proper Place, that I am watching The Tears of Infinity, quietly find Their Way, Home . . .
and Home, is the sapphired Waters of The River of Souls, waiting far below, waiting to embrace Them in a Sea of Many, waiting to welcome Them into The Arms of The Sum of The Whole, and as The Eyes of Patience surrender Them to The Air, They fall, as One, to The Surface, where Their long-awaited Arrival creates a perfect Ring, and whose Sound radiates Outward, becoming The Everlasting Echo, of Truth . . .
The Seventh DoveTale
The Breath of Angels
and while sumWhere deep inSighed The Silence of The Ages, there now are carried far more Echoes than God will Ever remember, a glorious Hush of Voices no longer found buried in The Whispers of Tomorrow . . .
and drifting between the Hopes and the Dreams of All Things Dear, and soaring deep into The Heart of The Absence of Fear, Ever still, there comes The Reign . . .
and a Child, in a Meadow, by a Willow, folds His Fingers over The Coin in His Hand, as The Eyes of The Eagle stare back at Him, and wink, gleaming now in The Blaze of Reflection, and He says, The Light of The Millennia, cast from Her Distant Fire, roam It will for Always, The Path of Your Desire . . .
and when His Hand unFurls, after reaching into Heaven for the brightest Object He could find, He sees, a ButterFly, waiting there, Her delicate Wings emerging in a Symphony of Colors, and with a Story to tell, and so, softly, He blows Her, Away . . .
and sumWhere quiet, along The Shores of Our Longing, in the peaceful Susseration of A Morning’s Promise to The Coming Dei, The SandPiper’s Watch suddenly reveals a perfect Time, and a perfect Place, but only for This MoMeant . . .
and as He looks up in Wonder, He sees and He hears The Prince of Tides, walking toward a Line barely visible, and drawn where The Waves have finally found a Home at His Feet, and soon discovers, lying there between The Sand and The Foam, is nothing but The Shadow, and slowly fading, between The Now, and The Never . . .
The Gathering
And The Fall, is a State of Grace
( in My Mind’s I )
and I, too, must respond to My own Ring of Truth, borne by an Echo, who has seen every Sun in every Sky beyond, who has held The Hand of Simplicity since Remember knew When, who stands before Me, now, as this Vista, Grand, whose Voice is All Sight, and All Sound, and All that I survey, and I bow My Head, in The Presence, of Her Magnitude . . .
and how do I reach this Monument to Perfection, this Hallmark of Creation, this Jewel on The Ring of Life, for My Way is decidedly, and unexpectedly, paused, as I deliberate The Means, by which My Journey, will finally become, My Destination . . . a brief observation reveals no Stairway to Heaven, down from The Height of Patience, and My aerial Skills, without the vital means of rope or rigging, are no match for the Task at Hand . . .
and these are not The End, of The Trials of Ecstasy, for The Aspect lying before Me, is for Ever marked by Circumstance, and mourned by Reason . . . for there, beyond The Reach, is The Seventh Bridge, standing for All Time, still and yet, Undone . . . its Terminus lies waiting, as Always, between this Rock, and Paradise, between The Face, and a Deep, Blue, Sea . . .
and with a Sigh of the deepest Sorrow, The Wind lashes through My Thoughts as if adorned in Shadow, and for one Moment, I know the Breath of Chaos has visited Fear upon My Heart, as It seeks one Final Grasp, of My Intent . . . and without leaving this Thought to Chance, I quietly whisper a Prayer to Silence, seeking The Hand, of God’s Forgiveness . . .
and The Hand, offered Me, to have, and to hold, is that of Faith . . . for My Choice, has now emerged within The Sphere of Destiny, because I must give over My Purpose to The Realm of Gravity, and embrace The Wind as My Partner, on this Voyage, into the Cool Water, into The Depths of Kindness, far, far, below . . .
and so, I do . . .
and I, become . . .
One . . .
The Eighth DoveTale
The Bridge of Dreams
waiting There, inside the faintest Trace of The Sigh of Always, and wrapped within The Breath of a Legion of Angels, is the very Music, the very Echo of The Gift of A Promise, that holds Us within The enThrall, of a Flaw, in The Fabric of Certainty, yet reveals a Story of a terrible Beauty, that still weighs upon The Balance of a Universe, as would a Feather, upon Nothing at All, because this Sound travels upon The Steed of Light, and He is Ironclad and Ever gListening, and because, the more Ever gListens, in the brightness of The Light, Always, beComes . . .
* * *
and once more, The Sisters of The Sun step forward, as One, from within The Reason Why, and The First, Eve, and The Second, Pandora, move into The Music of Our collective Souls, with a Rhythm only an Echo can hear, and in a single Voice of pure harmonic Perfection, so whisper, imagine a Place, where it rains only when U wish, and Wishes come true only when U smile, and where The Quality of Your Life is Always measured, by The Quantity of Your Time Ever spent, while Learning, Loving, Laughing, and Lasting . . .
* * *
while Mercy stands, at The End of The Rail of Sighs, staring up at the august Face of Patience, so close, and still so Far away, because the Space between Them waits for Ever, to break these Chains of Time, by casting the Nails from Across, into the open Well of Forgiveness, waiting Here, beyond a narrowing Divide, in The Land, of Our Because . . .
The Forgiving
( of Angels )
I stand, before You, Now, with The River of Souls beneath My Feet, a great and glorious Lake of Forgiveness, moving, as Ever, around The Center, of All Thought . . . and, as I look back, upon The Places I have been, at The Moments I have known, I find none are more precious, than those, of Remember, and none are more treasured, than those, of Because . . .
I raise My Eyes to The Rock of Patience, and I could not keep, from wondering Why . . . because The Tear, that fell upon Her Face, had fallen, from, The Sky . . .
and as I turned, to walk Away, Silence, waved, Goodbye . . .
The Forgiving
On The Bridge
( of Dreams )
The Music of Light, a gentle Breath upon My Senses, awakens My Awareness, of All Things, Here . . . My Immediacy, is the graceful Undulation of The Waves, rising, falling, caressing the massive Redwood Pilings that reach, agelessly, into The Depths of Kindness, that bear, Eternal, these Tide and Time-worn Timbers, beneath My Feet . . .
I am leaning, as Ever, upon The Rail of Sighs, watching a billion Stars begin to emerge, reflected in the twilight Surface of The Water, for The Parade of Suns has resumed Its ceaseless Trek, to the western Skies of Beyond . . . and in The AfterGlow, The Palace radiates in a wondrous Blaze of Color, as if The Light of Day, rested Within, and I know that My Eyes have been blessed, with The Glory of The Sight, of The Fires, of Ice . . .
I lay My Hands, finally upon The Rail, and I feel The Remembrances, The Timelessness, The Memory of The Moment of The Beginning of When, where ringing deep in The Heart of The Wood, every Prayer is captured, and every Wish is known, and as I slide My Hand along Its polished Faces, I can hear The Whispers of Hope, roaming somewhere, inSighed . . .
I return My Gaze to The Bridge, to the mighty care-worn Beam on which I stand, The First, of The Final Mile . . . Its upturned Face, dark with Tears, stares at The Sky, regarding All that It surveys, with each Grain of Thought, and every Fiber, of Its Existence . . . it was then that I noticed, echoing from a dark and forgotten Corner of My Heart, an unbidden and unfamiliar Thrust of Agony, for lying there, as if placed by Destiny’s Wish, and waiting for All to see, stained in the blood-red Hue of an ancient Iron, cast in The Forge of what will Be, was a Handful, of nine-inch Nails . . .
as I ponder The Magnitude of Their Presence, Here, upon My Path, Here, at The End of The Beginning, I attempt to take one Step closer toward Home, and discover, that I cannot . . . My Gaze is once Again fixed upon these deadly Shards of a man-made Metal, lying under The Weight of Reason, and each with a Point, of No Return . . . and as a Hush is heard across The Universe, I take them in My Left Hand, and in a blinding Flash of Light, I feel The Passion, The Purpose, and The Pain . . .
in a fevered Rush, I free My Hand from Its Burden, Ever scorched by The Fires of a far-off Place called Hell, where a Man once stood, on a Cross of Wood, and hurl the Atrocities deep into The Lake of Forgiveness, down and beyond The Reach of Certainty, where waits, The Arms, of Oblivion . . .
The Ninth DoveTale
The Shield of Courage
as The Eyes of Endlessness now stand Watch over The Realms of Because, and the Ghosts of Oblivion drag Their Chains of Awakening toward a final Demise, there amidst the rustling Robes of Honor, comes The Sound of Swords being forged into PlowShares, being tempered with The Iron of Faith, and The Steel of Integrity, thrust deep into the brilliant Fires of Truth, Ever stoked by The Bellows of Freedom, and finally balanced, by The Hammer in The Hand of Justice . . .
and before a single Rock was Ever thrown, into the Face of pure Aggression, before a single Arrow was Ever loosed, from the Bows of deliberate Avarice, before a single Bullet was Ever fired, from the Guns of abject Malice, yes there was Peace, upon The Land, The Sea, and The Sky . . .
and because of a Promise, made in the dire and darkest Days of Hope, almost forgotten by the rolling underTow of Time, and kept afloat, by a subtle yet undeniable Will to live, as Its Legacy, now sails higher than All the Purple in The Mountains of Majesty . . .
and while Amber, waves of Reign, She imagines a Whirled, pale and blue, and held high aloft by The View from Mirth, and suspended someWhere, between The Thanks and The Giving, where even in the quietest Moments, One can Always hear that Whisper of a Promise, of Peace returning, and Crosses burning, and Bells tolling, and Angels singing, and FireFlies laughing, at The Children, now beaming, in a great and glorious Sea, of Love . . .
The Forgiving
All The Reasons
( Between )
and with that, I turned, again, to face The Day, and headed for Home . . . and Home, is The Splendor of The Palace of Always, waiting, as Patience, there, at The End of The Bridge of Time . . . and still, Her Look is etched, as Liquid, upon The Mirrors of The Universe, The Gates of Dawn, and as I watch My Wish unfold before My Eyes, a Smile begins to adorn Her Face . . .
at this Moment, I know the Logic of Purpose, and take anew My first Step towards Truth, unimpeded now by Destiny’s Weight . . . the Sound of My Boots upon the Wood echoes out across The Seas of Space, and I sense the Hands of Chaos tremble in Its Wake, for even The Wind has escaped Their withered Grasp . . . it was then, that I placed My own Hands again upon The Rail, to guide My Thoughts, and to remember My Intent . . .
with a Voice, as One, The Prayers of All Things Dear cry out to My Touch, and as I move forward, quickening My Pace, each Whisper of Hope comes to The Surface, revealing the Proximity, of Where, and When . . . it is to Them that I silently pledge My Allegiance, once more, as I walk, Ever closer, toward The Heart of My Because, on this, My final Path, of The Voyage of Kings . . .
as I near The Palace Gates, I begin to see, clearly, The Presence of Words, delicately inscribed upon Them, and radiant with the Color of Gold . . . it was not until I stepped within this Brilliance, that I could decipher Their Meaning, and awaken to Their Motive, for They, were The Point, of It All . . .
ease my pain
with the Fingers of My Right Hand, I trace The Letters, One by One, knowing, that when All is Said, and All is Done, this Promise, I will keep . . . and, All The Moments that have come to Pass, and All The Moments yet to Be, I stand, at Last, with Here, right before Me, and as if All Heaven were awaiting My next and final Purpose, and with nothing less than the Strength of My Wish for Universal Renascence, I open The Gates, of Dawn . . .
The Tenth DoveTale
The Cliffs of Andromeda
The Face, on The SandPiper’s Watch, barely seems to provide a Clue,
so He lifts The SpyGlass to His Eye, and sees, just the very same View . . .
as The Our Hand, moves toward The Moments, in The Time before Midnight’s Bell, may Our Seconds fall toward The Dei, We find Our Dreams, inSighed Our Wishing, Well . . .
and as Our Time, Here, moves On, toward All the Pleasure waiting just beneath Our Pain, rest Assured, yes, We shall be cured, by The Light that Always falls, inSighed The Reign . . .
The Eyes of Avalon stare out across this Grand Design, so vast in Its majestic Simplexity, and so vacant in Its Regard, for The Very Thoughts of Mercy, because She, is a Child of this Universe, Ever caught between a Wink, and a Nod, because She is The Daughter of Patience, and a Sister, of The Sun of God . . .
and Here, on The Face of The SandPiper’s Watch, what will happen, only Time will tell, for what Dreams may come, for The All and for The Sum, long may They rest, where The Angels dwell, and if Your Hope cannot place U, among Those, We will Always hold, so Dear, We will find U, just to remind U, there waits A Living, in The Absence, of Fear . . .
The Forgiving
This, Shining, Gift
( The Jewel )
I am kneeling among The Galaxies, The Sea above and below Me . . . The Legion of Stars quietly ponder My Intent, in The Presence, of Their Grace . . .
yet They are not The Purpose at Hand, nor am I, Their Servant, of Fate . . . I have come, to surrender My Heart’s Remorse, and to lay It, Here, upon Her Lace . . .
She regards Me with a look of Kindness, still I cannot see Her Eyes . . . My Heart, is an Echo, in Her Canyon of Wonder, for She, is The Dyad, of Time, and Space . . .
as a Swan, She glides The Sea between Us, and Her Music, is The Air around Me . . . how I long to know Her Secrets, while I find not a Trace, of The Splendor, of Her Face . . .
with Her Arms open wide, and with Her Children gathered from The Clouds, She softly sings a Melody of Forgiveness . . . and I again, am still crying when, I fall, to Her Embrace . . .
* * *
in The Quiet of The Dawn, as Her Light pours slowly over The Garden, a Whisper is heard, throughout The Universe . . . The Guardians of The Sun, with Their brilliant Swords of Truth, stand watch over Him, as He kneels among The Stars . . . His Voice, a Breath of Harmonic Perfection, cannot disguise the Pain in His Heart, and with a Sincerity born of great Sadness, and Courage, and a Grace of Angels, He spoke . . .
The Tears, that lay upon Your Face,
I will share, in Sorrow’s Name,
for I have known The Folly, of Men,
I come, to cleanse Their Shame,
as I have come, to bear Their Blame . . .
and All at Once, a Great and Glorious Peace, felt through to The Core of Paradise, washes over Him, and All that His Eyes survey . . . in His Heart, He knew the Darkness was fading into Memory, and The Light, The Dawn, was victorious . . . and with The Power of Love surging through His Soul, He stands, and raises His Eyes, to behold a Vision of Absolute Purity, The Jewel of All Creation, for He has been blessed, once more, by The Sight of The Face, by The Eyes of Grace, by The Mother, of The Sun . . .
The Eleventh DoveTale
The Whisper of Fulfillment
and high on a Cliff, someWhere on a Jewel named Andromeda, overLooking All that He had wrought upon this Universe, and listening to the Echoes of the Follies of Men obliterate themselves, upon The Rocks down far below His Boots, once made of a golden Fire, and now, covered with the Dust and Destiny of Æons, having walked every Mile that Ever was, in The Sapphire Eyes, of Infinity . . .
and with His SpyGlass resting on The Horizon, searching for The Reason, the final End of His Voyage would portray, and though He could not Yet see Her Face, it was these Words, that Ever chose, to say . . .
All The Tears, that lay upon Your Face, I will cast into Sorrow’s Flames, for I, have caused The Disgrace of Kings, without Ever knowing Their Names, and no matter how long I’ve been Gone, and no matter how Far were My Aways, know that Ever I have loved U, as I will Always, ’til The Very End, of My Days . . .
and there in The Rock of Patience, The Sword of Excalibur stands, for no Man, King or God, shall Ever wield Her Truth, without First, kissing The Palm, of Her Hand . . . and as He listens to The Roar of The IcanSea, churning far below The Mantle of His Regard, pounding with The Hammers of Titans upon a World He could never call His own, He remembers . . .
where All His Journeys have brought Him, from Hither to Yon, in search, of The Finest Prize, He could not see, nor could He Ever be, The Light that once shone, in Her Eyes . . . for Those were His Days with Eternity, where He had walked in search of a Rose, what He never knew Then, and what He Ever knows now, is that His Voyage, was coming, to a Close . . .
and still He is left to Wonder, should He Ever dream of a someTime When, for if Her Smiles were The Prize, and so lovely were Her Eyes, then He would never leave Home, as Ever, Again . . . and as He takes One Last Look at The Horizon, where never He will Ever choose to roam, He sees and hears a great Parting of The Waves rumble across Heaven, and as Far as The IcanSea . . .
and All at Once, a lost and lonely little Zephyr blows toward Him like an errant Child in The Skies of Remember, and carrying the last Whisper of All that remains of an Echo of The Reason Why, She asks Him, if He would Ever care to know a Secret, and to This, He gave a quiet Nod . . . Lord, Your Forgiveness, is The Whisper of Fulfillment, and She is borne, upon The Breath, of God . . .
The Forgiving
For as Long, as I, Remember
( The Deis )
and Now, at Last, before Me, is That, which I have walked The Breadth, and The Depth, of All Infinity to find . . . That, which launched Ten Thousand Ships of Light . . . and That, whose Essence carries with It, Each and Every Drop of Grace, that Ever fell, during The Reign, of God . . .
and I, on My Knees among The Myriad of Stars, above and below Me, circling, for The First Time, and most assuredly, for The Last Time, before They begin Their Journey, toward Places far beyond The Sun, and as I gaze into The Face of Always, I see these Places, shining, in The Windows, of Her Eyes . . .
and There, I find, moving as Liquid, and suspended in The Galaxies of Her Eternal Wisdom, is The Very Reason All Things have come to Pass, The Very Source of The Light, that proclaims Her as Victorious over Darkness, and The Very Heart that Always holds The Love, that Ever I adore . . .
and to This Heart, I so promise, to uphold All The Dreams, and All The Desires, and All The Devotions required, to bring Hope to the Have Not, to bring Is to the Was Not, to bring Yes to the Why Not, to bring Love, to the Will Not, and to raise The Tide of Reason, well beyond The Shores, of NoWhere . . .
and All at Once, while even The Air around Us seems to shiver, with The Anticipation known only to Now, and a Vibrancy brought Forth, through a Ribbon in Our Sapphire Sky, She raises Her Eyes to Her Sea of Glass, and gazes Out across Her Dominion, to The Places She has nEver been, to The Places She will see, Again, as They All lay quietly, patiently, waiting, as The Leaves, lying on The Surface, of The Pools of Her Supreme Innocence . . .
and Still, We have yet to touch, because Now, surely, the mere Notion, would cause The Ignition, of Ten Thousand Suns . . . Each, having made Their Journey across The Heavens, and Each, having finally laid Their Anchors, SteadFast, upon The Shores of Avalon, and Each, having so delivered The Light of Her Love, unto The Fields and The Forests of Her Divine Forgiveness, where, for Ever, and yes, for Always, so She shall Be . . .
and Now, Again, still I am crying when, I offer The Hand upon My Left, to The One upon Her Right, just as Three Rings can be heard, flying, across Paradise . . . and before The Echo can Ever say Hello, We walk on through The Gates of Dawn, and out into The Morning Sun, and there before Our Eyes, stretching as Far as The IcanSea, is The River of Souls, fanning Out across The Universe, becoming One with The Sky, Again, and yes, there, for All to see, and for All to be, is The Seventh Bridge of Why, lasting and complete, and held fast for Always, to The Shores of Her New Beginning, because Her Silence, is KnowWhere in Sight, and because Her Patience, is KnowWhere, to be Seen . . .
The Twelfth DoveTale
The Symphony of Moments
so as ’Lo and Behold, stand at The Edge of Wonder, The Parting of The Waves of The IcanSea, move as Liquid Glass, into All that Ever’s Eyes survey, and with The Magic found only in Fairy Tales, The Waters rise up to form crystalline Portals into The Heart of Always, where stands, Her Myriad, of Angels, The Ten Thousand Rays of Illumination, so brilliant, in All Their Glory, and Their Heads bowed low in The Presence of Their Supreme Majesty . . .
and as Ever falls to His Knees in The Beauty of This Moment, He begins to remember All the Things that have been so long forgotten, on this His Journey toward Salvation, which began in The Throes of His blind and deliberate Desire, to search for All that He could only Ever find, in The Place that He never should have left behind, and that Place, is This . . .
and in The Rush of Regret pouring through His Heart, and The Call of His Disgrace still as clear as The Light that shines upon EveryThing, He cannot bear the Wait of His Tears, and They begin to fall on the very Point, where He once stood, so far Ago, so long Away . . .
yet All of The Days labored in the Fields of His Abandon, All The Moments gathered in The Wake of His Sorrows, All The Tears He could Ever cry could never fill The Magnitude of The Well of Her Loneliness, nor The Measure of Her Devotion, and these very Things were not only The Essences of The Light that He had followed, but were The Echoes of The Light, that Always brought Him Home, and He is Ever, so crying, still . . .
* * *
and in the Sun-dappled Shade of a lone Willow, and nigh by The Bend in a River of Forgiveness, The Jewels of a Universe gaze down upon a Child, who holds a MockingBird free in The Wink of His Eye, and a Ribbon, of a sapphired Blue, in His trembling yet quite resolute Hands . . .
and in a single Flash of Brilliance, and of Understanding, as His Heart came to know what His Soul had set out to find, so long wrapped in The Mystery of The Voices of The Pageant of Lilies now arrayed before Him . . .
and suspended from The Ribbon by a fine and silver Thread, brought from The Tapestry of God’s Infinite Grace, was The Very Key, to The Very Kingdom, of Heaven . . .
* * *
as a Rush of Wings, breaks The Silence between Them, a Flock of Grace soars behind The Sun, while roaring at The Wind, as One . . . She raises Her Hand toward The Tears on His Face . . .
and as Cool Water, Her Touch answers The Question in His Heart, as He falls into The Window of Her Eyes, So, will U Ever, forgive Me ? a Whisper, Forgiven, He will Always, Be . . .
The Forgiving
The Embrace
. . . off in the distance, you hear the sounds of my engine, my Iron Horse, guttural, throaty, as with the roar of lions, stroking the Night with the awesome Power of Love . . .
. . . you are wrapped in the throes of anticipation never felt before . . . a fire in your Soul, a rage of Ecstasy that brings tears to your eyes, and a Promise, a Whisper of Fulfillment . . .
. . . the tread of my boot echoes through the Night, as i climb the stairway to your Heart, to your Wonder, to your Arms, to your fragrant Mist . . .
. . . lying there, your flesh burns icy hot, a fevered rush of Desire . . . your eyes close to the Mystery about to unfold, and your body hums electric . . .
. . . i shed the raiment of the world from my stride, and don The Crown of Glory . . . slowly i drift through the corridors of your Heart, and now, oh so close, is the Doorway to Paradise. . .
. . . you have abandoned all self-possession, your Surrender will be complete, EverLasting, and Eternal . . . your body undulates exquisitely, to the rhythm of your Heart . . .
. . . i move quietly to your soft silhouette, and behold The Radiance of your Smile, a Beacon of Beauty, in what is now a Sea of Joy, a Sheathing of scarlet Fire . . .
. . . you raise your hand to mine, The Touch of Lightning, and i raise you to my arms, and enfold you within a Veil of Rapture, your feet never to grace this Earth again, as i lift your Spirit to Heaven, unbound . . .
. . . i carry my sweet burden to The Edge of Always, and stare into The Galaxies of Her Eyes, and she wraps her Music around me, as i enter her Canyon of Dreams. . .
. . . The Portal to The Sea allows Natures Wind to tenderly bathe us, and The Moon to paint us with golden Light . . . shimmering Prisms of Passion, a perfect Luminescence of Desire . . .
. . . we rock, and sway, with the motion of The Waves creating quiet thunder on The Sand . . . Time ceases Its relentless Path, to witness, and to wonder, of This Voyage of Stars, a Union of Suns, a Fusion of Enchantment . . .
. . . our bodies melt to a single, indivisible Entity, for Ever bound by The Chains of Awakening, of spiritual Nirvana, as we tremble together in Cascades of Eruption, in the magnificent Freedom of Release . . .
* * *
as The Sentinel of Night slowly fades from Existence, and falls below The Sea’s Horizon, a glow in The Eastern sky, born from The Heart of The Universe, slowly rises . . . She is The Morning, and She has come to bless Her Children of The Clouds . . .
and with Peace in His Heart, and Love in His Soul, He gently lays His Angel down, sleeping, Her Dreams of Eagles, soaring . . . He regards Her Face with Tears in His Eyes, and places His Kiss upon Her Lips, and lays down beside Her, and closes His Eyes, to join Her, on Their Journey . . . through The Gates, of Dawn . . .
The Epilogue
The Story, of Why
( as Due, tells )
when Ever set out to find His Truth, She sent before Him, The Light of Her Understanding, which, He soon discovered, had Always seemed to precede Him, where Ever He had gone, and when Ever finally reTurned, to The Place where He had begun, He realized that All He had brought upon HimSelf, was so felt across All of Her Creation . . .
and that each and every Folly of Men, which sought to conquer, and lay ruin, upon The Hearts of All Things Dear, was born in the very Reason for His blind Desire, to search for, behold, and yes ultimately possess, All that He had Always been freely given, and held within the very Beauty of the very Smile of the very Rose, that He had walked All the Empires of Gods and Kings to find . . .
a Voyage that had brought Him to the very Shadow in a Valley of Death, where once stood, a Cross of Wood, that bore The Weight of Their Everlasting Sun, whose Flame and whose Name, was not only The Very Light of Their BeCause, but was The Very Essence, of All of The Reasons Why . . .
* * *
and Now, standing in The Radiance of Her See of Forgiveness, and bowing His Head, in The Presence, of The Glory of Their Blessed Union, Ever slowly walks toward The Light of this AllMighty Truth, who bears a Smile more lovely than All the Roses in Heaven, and He embraces The Dove, who is The Dawn, of Love, Again . . .
* * *
and The Dove, of Love, Again, is His Son, and oh yes, The Dawn, of His Love, Again, has begun . . .
in The AfterGlow
Still Falling, Higher
( of Wings, and Prayers )
a delicate, pale-blue Sparrow, without even a Name or a Number, and fresh from The Shores of a pale-blue Gem in a dark velvet Sky, called Avalon, stares with unblinking Eyes upon the vast, and venomous Maw of Oblivion, waiting, well past The Reach, and just beyond The Edge, of Her fading, and now forgotten, unCertainty . . .
She is poised, not by dare nor design, yet knowing, beyond a Shadow of Doubt, that All that has come to Pass, ended, Here, and, as sure as the very next Breath She will take during this Journey, will begin the First Moments, of All that will come to Be . . .
and so Far, She has flown, so Far, from The Fields and The Forests, of SomeTime When, carrying with Her, The Dreams, The Desires, and The Music of Men . . .
and while this Night begins to pale from The Light of The One, and The Moon slowly turns, once More, to face The Advent of The Sun, whose Smile, heralds Her Return, to The Land, of Love, Again . . .
and, with a final Thrust, born from The Strength of Her Conviction and Courage, She pushes off from Her Place upon The Hopes of Humanity, with Wings outstretched to embrace the eternal Whispers of God, which will guide Her, unerringly, into the wide and waiting Arms of FullFillMeant, and knowing, so well, as She soars at Last into The Absence of Her Fear, that behind Her, lifting high into The Realm of Their Significance, and, with The Might of The Majesty of Titans, come Tens, of Thousands, More . . .
The Beginning
( sic itur ad astra )
and thus, We go to The Stars . . .
( and I, am dreaming . . . still )
The AfterThoughts
of Ancient Voices
there is no Doubt, as to the Relevancy of these Words, that have flown from this hope-hammered Heart of Mine, nor is there any lack of Immediacy, in Passion or Purpose, as to My Ever-present Need, Want, Deservance, or Desire, to cast Them upon every Stream of Consciousness that has ever run the Gamut of ordinary Day-to-Day Existence, or to ply My Oars, amidst The Shallows of every waveless emOceanal backWater of Antipathy, or unCertainty, or down-right aVoidance of Commitment or Conviction, that has ever caused Our collective Voice to stammer or quake, in untold and unheard Echelons of timeless Abandon, having marched for Eternity across these night-trodden Millennia, in the up-to-the-present Hope of earning just one, single, and blessed Moment of Significance, in God’s grand, and so mysterious Design . . .
and Still, I wait, for this Echo to escape, unfettered and unforsaken, from this Shell of immense and undeniable Potential, to journey back, into The Depths of Heaven from whence it came, and now clad in the Armor of a most righteous Intent, to bear witness, and to bring wonder, into the very Source of the very Reason, that Its Essence, was Ever, so inevitably required . . .
* * *
there are Thymes when I read what I have wrought, and I wonder . . .
who was this Essence, this Traveler, whose Echo rings withIn Me still, yet whose Thread, is but a whisper of a wisp of Hope, that All that was ~spoken~, All that was portrayed in undeniable Memory of what Was, is so loosed upon the World in such chaotic disArray, that I am in Awe, only because of Its former Self, and Its neverEnding capacity to capture Again My fear-weary Heart, and to cause My trembling Hand to grasp this once AllMighty Pen, that once scorched the Words with a Lightning’s Dance across even the Devil’s own Diary, and once brought The Stars to a standstill, to witness, and to wonder, of the death of Innocence, the resurrection of Forgiveness, the Birth of an Empire, called Love, Again . . .
who was this desperate Soldier of Fate’s forgotten Fortune, in whose Hand was held, All the Destinies of Men . . .
* * *
how loud must I scream, or how softly do I whisper, and what Words do I pour forth, that have not already been issued in every conceivable Manner, and in every possible Arrangement, including Those not yet recognized within fashionable or acceptable Methods of TransMission, though are fully and irrevocably placed for Ever into The TimeLine of The Reign of The Son of Man . . .
All of which, by the Surety and Substance of Faith alone, demand to be made One with The Designs and Desires of God, by Virtue of each and every Dream, Hope, Prayer or Wish that exists within The Souls of All Creation, that remain vivid and inviolate by the sheer Power of Their Courage and Conviction . . .
and need not still suffer of even a single Spasm of unCertainty, regarding Their Purpose, Place, or Path within this Universe, from this very Moment on, until every Moment, has come to pass . . .
as Ever,
I.H.
March 27th, 2011
