Scribe
Scribe
2017
Descent
our personal hell.
Wouldn't sell
out on who we are,
less we stray so far
as to become falling stars
from our sky of dreams.
Sunbeams hunting the sun,
where time had begun
our ethereal run
for the real gold.
The story unfolds
Behold!
the shining arc we guard.
Deep in our hearts
since glittering start
in this world apart
from a life without death—
that series of breaths
till empty of depth
of vitality to go on.
The dreams
of eternal themes
unstitching the seams
of time
tying sequential rhyme
to the prime
of existence.
The procession
of succession,
the regression
of truth by maya …
the coming of Gaia
in her fifth Kaya
through time and space.
Karmic mules braying
at Kal’s flaying,
the burden of playing
into Niranjan’s slight of hand—
his lower worlds’ lands
veiled as the grand
path to liberation.
Such is the lie
which belies
the real course to fly.
Straight inside,
the narrow ride
where myths can’t hide
as the sacred truth.
Thinning of the Veils
Copyright © 2017 Carl Hitchens
(manuscript looking for a publisher)
Friday, July 7, 2017