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the way out is impossible

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  • the way out is impossible

    an egg is unhatched; it sits upon the shore, where the light streams through the clouds of this beach. and the egg. the light sits upon the egg and the shores of the sky, the sun hitting the upper atmosphere in gentle ocean waves (for now).
    this portends the crack between worlds ... when finally what was within and never before seen (what was dark and unknown) comes forth. from inside, it must be so similar to how it is on the outside, but so impossibly different. Light comes in, but dark (from the light world) doesn't come out! Only the little reptile does. with her baby wings and the caked on yolk... eating the egg, so much of the sky is eaten up by these beings. and she breaks loose the sticky, leathery remains which had cracked her into this existence. before, she was in another existence: the one which things pop into and out of. the egg glistened and she turned around and devoured the rest of it, tail thrumming with life.
    she sweeps over the land, so green but not as green as her (she is emerald,-- the color of a river cutting thru endless summers). the bright green of foam that collects, the same as her scales. her black eyes watch the world, still and moving, and she is able to go underwater again.

    the dragon is underwater but her music's in the sky. and on that path we come to take, the eggs are strewn; the nests dotting the landscape, patiently made. everything is jeweled, concatenating reflections cast from watery ripples. the fabric of space and time is so soft; a white of linen, of hanging clothes upon lines;-- that softness, without the wind to touch them and yet they're dry. without even the ground for the stakes.
    yes, in someone's eye IS that thing, that mote, that beam; that tree. it is also in me.
    I can't say whether it enters or leaves, I can't even prove it exists. I know because I remember. But I've often thought my memory was selective, too: as if just because I needed to remember I was remembering myself, but there must be somewhere without any memory.
    and that place I've almost visited, at times, thinking about this.
    such territory, what would I worry about with no clocks? it's a confused array of timelessness, no one believes it, and so I am the only one who can go there, really. there are stories told about it but they have become silent, too. there is no easy way in. and the way out is impossible.
    so we find the 13th gate in the mountain, in the hills, in the sky that rains down, down, down upon the valleys where it also is.
    so the key to it is "nothing".
    there is a word which will bring you there, it is how empty we can become.

    it is not receiving, but perceiving you.
    its open eyes are fearless, with or without memories.
    this species of being lives in the sky.
    the clouds hold its stored up thunder, and the one underwater balances THOSE clouds until the time is right to make them rise.
    green water dragon, with your bare eyes, and sight of so many things; years, ages, places, placeless.
    think of the castle bricks, count them (you can't count with a fist but they make the moat, and the bridge; this castle is remote)--
    feel the fire cold enough to eat its own smoke.
    feel death close its eyes; no-- feel death close my eyes.
    O key to the keys of the gate of gates, the number thirteen.
    Last edited by amenOra; 02-10-2020, 05:18 AM.

  • #2
    Beautifully expressive. Excellent descriptors. Thanks for a journey through your eyes.

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    • #3
      And thanks for seeing thru my eyes, what a gift to be able to share. Peace and love, RLW.


      --I did a little experimentation with narrative, and imagery, which I'm not sure worked what I intended, but I'm satisfied with the result!

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      • #4
        explosive,operatic,genuine powerful. your stuff for me is on point thank you A.O.

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        • #5
          the number thirteen.
          Half an alphabet
          carried in train
          shuffled and dealt
          bad luck remains
          en suite with Pushkin's
          Queen of Spades

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          • amenOra
            amenOra commented
            Editing a comment
            O great, I am glad for the reference, I shall read the story soon, I think. Thanks for readin me!

        • #6
          I take a different view than others have given.
          The wonder of life which evolves and adapts to almost any disastrous change that the planet can offer.
          Darwin offers an explanation but for me I think that so much is still withheld.

          A very interesting poem, well done.

          Regards
          John.

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          • amenOra
            amenOra commented
            Editing a comment
            Thanks John, I'm glad for your interpretation. Helps me see the poem in a different light.
            Peace

        • #7
          I loved it Amen Ora a very beautiful read thank you

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