Fringe

So maybe everything
Is crashing down.
One grand and ungraceful
Apocalypse of the
Self.

That I am dying before
I die.
Gurgling, craving for one
Joyous breath of living
Air.

Maybe it is the shift of
The poles.
The opening of closes
The abating of unnecessary
Noise.

Where dark greets Dark
And light lives
Unconfined.
Where mirrors reflect
Acceptance.

Maybe it is the
Great rise from eons
Of madness.
Where walls bow down
As the heart transcends.

Maybe…
The filth
The grime
The hate
The heat
And the empty weakness
Of it all
Are leaving.

Maybe the
Confluence of
What was for what will
Is parting.

Maybe the farthest
Edges have been touched.
Maybe all hands must
Fall down,
Both knees must bend
Maybe the head must lay
In offering

And like the love of
Shams and Rumi

I will Be Born again.
Right from the edges
To the core.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: