The Life Of A Captive
I have been held captive
beneath an arch of frigid shadows,
and yet not a day has passed
but that I’ve seized morning by the shoulders
and walked through locked doors
toward the forbidden light.
This is how I know: there are moments
when everything is open - the earth and stars,
signs in the heavens, spiral mists.
The path of worlds,
shining spheres are close by
as I pass through the great equinox
into regions where the morning star
holds temporal sway.
From hope’s charred remains
I keep fleeing to the northern cold,
the dark-blue chill, the slate-green ice,
and desires flicker in me
like the northern lights.
Then I return to the familiar ridges,
youthful memories flowing
like blue streams between them,
go out amid strange winds
from a southern sea.
Storms set to, fall hoarse,
I awake then on coral islands,
gaze at flocks of flying fish
as the soul hovers
over waves, amid reflections
like a white seagull.
I know of ivory coasts,
of palms over sheltering inlets
where nymphs with dazzling eyes
beckon in the water.
I know of wilds where
my thoughts race like gazelles.
I step through ruins
where the old gods
whisper their names.
The tropic of anxious days
keep binding me
to a gutted tree.
I break loose and escape to a land
of springs and unknown flowers
where I seek the orchid of wonderment
and where a playful gust
writes in the grass
the words that I whisper -
My heart is made of light and desire,
I cannot remain a captive.