I stand upon a frozen sea
Searching sadly for my God.
“Go east,” they cried,
“Go west,” they sang,
“Search north and south to find his name.”
Finding sigh, and sighing rest
Let heaven then consume the best.
I would prefer not to.
Can every question seek an answer
Or every answer sever ties?
Ties that tremble, kiss, and bind,
This monkey-rope ‘tween you and I.
“Trust me now I’ll do thee right.”
I would,
But
I prefer not to.
If senses can be trusted
Within this time and space.
Let no experience be denied
Or factitive statement left aside,
Take in these sights, dissolve, rewrite,
Break forth my soul and sing!
Upon a wide and open plane,
Beneath the wild, hot, African sun,
Around a creek that runs with sand,
And waters life with death,
This Xanadu, this Aztec realm,
Where never man stood at the helm
And always let the nat’ral world
Control him, by his fancy.
Here is no meaning vivacious and true,
Here is no meaning for me or for you,
I could retreat, reevaluate, rewrite,
I should,
But
I prefer not to.
Imagination—holy sword—with which to make
A holy word
A spear
Of light
Piercing
The night
And never leaving—ever breathing—
Any foe nor large nor slight.
But this is but semantic fight
And I would prefer not to.
So here upon this crystal sea
I waste away, alone and crying,
Like Rachel weeping for her children,
For my thoughts are not my own.
I stand to walk.
My bloody, frozen feet
Leaving a trail upon the ice
Like a bread-crumb trail of deep despair
Which leadeth on to woe.
But Hark!
Ahead a pale and waxen light
With pallid fervor lifts its head
Again, again, against the violent night.
I walk and limp and trod and crawl, alone,
Until I find an end to th’ ice, a stone.
Upon the stone an earthen hut all brown
And squat, with lights in windows—azure eyes—
A lone and silent sentinel standing
Against the storm.
Within there lies a sight.
An awesome sight, a holy sight, as sight
That stands against the night and leave’s this world’s
rage
Empty.
Within the four mud and oaken walls
A second holy family glows
And shimmers in the candle light.
Mother, Father, Daughter all
The heart and mind, their image small
Who from their looks all graces fall
Upon a dying, wretched man,
And such a man am I.
Now, Now let your servant go in peace my Lord.
This cruel life has been a crucifixion.
Five wounds all made, three chalices drained,
I lie in peace upon the frozen shore
And watch the sky burst into light
A rainbow river, sunburst flare,
All colours dancing in the air
Here I could die without a care
To live, to die—give up the ghost: a prayer.
I would prefer not to.
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