Through Europe’s green remnants, Sun-stained and imperial The trees rise, flag banners in gray skies. The scars of soil, and agenda And words written-against flesh And here in the darkness We blur, we blend, and we mesh…
I can no longer reach out… Without touching. I can no longer out-reach… Touching without.
But still the stars seem Cruel and warm by turns The illusion of our memory Still writhes and burns. (…writhes and burns…)
The echoes of time Never close to forgiving… The dead are never buried, Far from the living. (…and still we cry out…)
The ruins of things I have never known whole, The pits of sacrifice, I have never seen unused… They used to be mere image, Phantoms unfettered by flesh. Now as they fall- They fall around me. And now as they fly- They circle inside me. They consume me, And I assume them…
Changing before one can cling To a single step In the course of consistency… All exercises are futility But for one… All prayers are empty But for one…
(The shimmering on and on of lights eternal…)
Now there is fire and all is consumed the sentinels turn their faces oscillating between day and night… I choose their names Written across doorways And Forged into keys By our desire… By our binding, And the path itself disappears Into our feet As we become Journey and direction Full-filled within flesh We are one And the track it disappears Beneath a Budapest train We are one Journey and direction Full-filled within flesh (we are one…)
The stars are phoenix-like Consumed and assumed… Lost and longing Reunited to cease,
To assimilate One with morning All robed by eternity And her purples…