Suisan Littlentall soared
higher and higher
well beyond the hellenized hang.
“Tis not flames of the fire that I
desire”
And thus, she broke free
with her ancient and broken wings.
Suisan soared to heaven’s palace
spinning in divine circular dreams
threading her thoughts
from the fire’s freedom
to enliven the torments of truth.
Oust at the fire’s fringed
kingdom
the fire’s lips speak for the
flame
flowing with tormented truths
sitting quietly; a penumbra of
terror
reflections on mesmerizing couths
that are of an ancient mind;
a frontier of mellowing euphony
while the whispering smoke lilts
gently away with a forgiving
eulogy
as the apotheosis of ruin
speak of the utter urgencies
to survive; to succumb
to the threads of truth’s
agencies
that weave lines into the past
while pondering if there is still
time
never minding the authenticity
of the moment nor its rhyme.
Suisan lifts higher and higher
a flyer soaring up like symphonies
throughout the circular divinities;
a liberation from life’s cacophonies
gliding freely into the maelstrom
where the tendrils of thought
become mobius strips of
strangeness
whimsical wonderings without
ought
two-dimensional paths without end
open lanes and byways going
sideways
sliding off to the other side of
sanity
rambling through the rabble of days
a rebel gallivanting the grounds
of a labyrinth
seeking to find pupils for her
pedestal
before the tentacles of doubt
shackle the poet, Suisan
Littlentall.
Save thyself from thyself
sweet Suisan – forsake all
entanglements
be not forgotten; believe not thy
thoughts
before the manacles of madness fetter
thy moments.
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