Between
the windows of your seeing;
within the blind spots of fear;
behind densest walls;
floating forsaken in emptiness,
is your horror,
Your horror, my lord, at that which you create.
A breathless apprehension
of dreadful exclusion
the stuff amputated by fear of life
in its horrific glory.
It is no stranger , this horror.
We enjoy it in TV doses;
soapy enough for hell;
but missing ingredients to condemn.
Will you come to feel some horror, stranger?
Will you follow to spaces demons fear to dread?
Through the valley of the shadow of death,
Will you walk with me?
“Yes,” says the One.
“This horror is my forgotten pain
a rupture in time
slicing cruelty in space
and waiting now,
in the arms of eternity.
Let us go, let us be, be for real
in these morbid marshlands,
Take your human forms to feel it all.”
And feeling through the eyes of One
and through a melancholy infinitude,
I dissolve a little and am here.
Light shows stab my eyes.
Babies on bayonets;
rape of a child in love with her Dad;
hunger and disease in frozen hearts;
guilt in contacting monuments
and shame – burning like a sun
on fragments of ravaged text
making chaos of a command.
“I am that,”
I curse, in prayer shawl tongues:
“I am that, and that, and that”
“Take this home with you.” says the One.
“For only humans undo what humans do.”
I scoop a mass of wilted silence,
as it glues to my hands for fear.
Together, we rise through clouded time
and forming out of emptiness, it seems
I hold a terrified child,
in dimensions of ice.
Into the womb I take her,
to a space of infinite care,
sheltering for warmth and rest,
not of me but within.
Today, I don’t know where she went,
this, my sweetest child,
She separates into atoms of love
moving through light and on
to that from which she was sung
and into the One
that never abandons itself.
