Hollow Ways of the Worm

Turn and turn again

the minute and the mass

will strain upon quantum sense

until the odd pass and even path evolve

unto a black passage  -  where one must exist

in multitudes of unique organic reams;  conforming

into circular overlaps of singular faces that traverse

between then and now - the hollow ways of the worm, again.

Happiness is a Stay

delay

obfuscate

change stand

on your long stay

before midnight’s voice

intones

a name

a date

a time

for the executioner

as the long losing sentence

is over  -

there will be no stay

only a final divarication

between where the ego

stands

and the ills of fate

fall...

You cannot stay

A Dwelling of Prime

Tall oaks surround the cottage - forming

     Into groves of ageless sentries whose silent presence

     create an aura of unforgiving remoteness

     and yet, at the same time, portraying an allure -

of simplicity; a place of sanctuary

the timeless stone dwelling stands deep into the woods

     barely visible from the road;  displaying only a frontal face

     the rounded windows, though uncovered, appear eerily blank

     no light; no reflections – nothing but expressionless portals

revealing mortal truths while allowing for mystical lines at Prime

  

the front gable juxtaposed, in a striking upward angle,

     an odd ten-degree-point, against all that is natural

     and mirroring itself at each side of the polygonal edifice  -

     with engraved notice reading across each lintel:

“Introitus In Aeternum”  -

the anteroom consists of stain glass walls in inviting hues of ocean

     and then a second entrance, with a confronting bronze door,

     effused in patina with notation stating: “Life and death have no place within”...

     the interior enclosure; massive - larger  than appearing possible

     while housing volumes and volumes of lists and obituaries to ponder

his work compels absolute isolation

     away from the village; distant of church brethren

     however, he must touch each their skin to complete fate

     as written upon the churchyard stones, that stand in circular rows,

looping time and space at infinite points; one soul – one departed.

A Mystery of Time

That he was a hungry man in need of nothing

     or satiated one in want of everything

     one could only wonder...

     he never asked - nor gave reason to understand

if he dressed in fine silk shirts or preferred plain cotton

that he lived at such a time was a mystery

     as even the elders could recall him as old and strange

     when they themselves were young; in change

     sometimes even retelling their stories to their grandchildren

of how or when they followed him into the winter

after all, the seasons came and passed

     and the village changed as life wended through

     the streets and the roads - taking people away

     while others came but never could leave

and of course, the churchyard told all their histories

he kept these tales and dates as his duty

     and as carefully as he kept his books and shelves

     no one was left out nor left in – it seems

     the inked words and works held a finite term

as his place of harbor offered a life affirmed   

A Choice to Leave

No one knew why he sat alone

     at the rear of the bench rows on the last pew

     he usually arrived early and left last

     never meeting anyone’s eye...

no one ever knew why

he lived in solitude in the old stone cottage

     that sits across the churchyard’s view

     his wanderings took him away most days

     but he could never leave

the private thoughts that persisted upon him

some insist he was once a rich man

     with a learned mind - based on the rooms  of books

     that he hosted carefully in lines of shelves

     these all were meticulously marked with notes

that allowed slight insights into the complexities

then again, no one ever met him to know

     nor bothered to alter his nonconforming path

     everyone assumed that his life was either his prize

     or his torment – in any case, his choice;

 he did sit alone at church – did he not?

Who Leaves A Churchyard

As he walked past the churchyard

     It was upon the dying

     that his meandering mind

     lingered and then faltered

at his own name inscribed

the fall was late as the last leaves

     fell upon the woodland floors

     the emerald had long changed

     and the flair of autumn’s color was muted; faded  

like the stories behind the headstones

the mourners were all gone to other places

     the graveyard digger was with his wife

     and the geese overhead were flying someplace else

he had always mused with the notion of pain in dying

though now  - it was more a bittersweet taste to ponder

Delusion of Knowledge

Delusion of Knowledge

A stillness in the cave

of sense

stands blind

with darkness

of ignorance

A beam slices

in as bright light

of self knowledge

that pains

the eye

A gentle awareness

soon forms

in a soothing mist

of opaqueness

for an infinitesimal moment

And at once, the noise

of universality

drones on across eternity

while agony contemplates

the delusion of why

Seeking Sanity In Chaos

Seeking Sanity In Chaos

Entropy is being the circle,

while knowing of the circle,

and requires degradation

of the circle’s line

with a clear point

From without -

allowing the matter

within the circle

to matter

not

With or without doubt

this is sanity

in chaos therapy

If madness is not a companion

then, it must be within

Permutation

She bemoaned a sameness

Yet, no one has been witness

To a predictable hue in the light of dawn

Nor ever meets wonderment with a yawn

When the long  horizon closes

Upon itself - so that the sky and ocean

Disappear in wisps as the night’s motion

Of linear permutation transposes

Ideas of uniformity into a random myriad

Thus, any conformity ends at each period