The intersection of flowers and crucifixes

Now, stepping onto the magma of a nascent awareness/ she wonders if she could call it that/ but the words escape her before her lips have anything to say/The heart though, is exhausted/ for it has no memory left/ no thread to hold in place it’s helpless muscle/ They speak of organs of love but love in the realms she inhabits/ flowers intersect with crucifixes and metamorphose into something grotesque/ under the scythes of the crescent of a moonlit night/ that observe this desecration of the softest issues of the soul/ If there is peace in this valley of sorrow and a drought of tears/ it is that the mind yet traces virgules in the sand/ pouring redeeming letters onto them/ begging and pleading for the wind to sweep it all away into the dunes of forgetfulness/







I think poets are the emotional lightening rods for the tribulations of others in addition to themselves. It is the only way one can distance oneself from what one feels so deeply for in the world, by consigning words to paper, articulating them like music to the soul of the universe. I like to see myself as a vehicle for the lyricality of life through my poetry.

I see so many people suffering, that attempt to express themselves in poetry, even if they don’t have the words nor the training to do so, it is heartrending. I believe Poets have a responsibility to help configure this chaotic thought process into something coherent.

The intersection of flowers and crucifixes is a metaphor for the fragile intertwined by the vicissitudes of life, along the lines of something that I am always fascinated by, a biblical allusion to the crucifixion. The irony of the sentient being, traumatized so, is not lost on me, but it is a fate one does not seek. So too with life, grief is altogether the fate no one chooses since humans always seek comfort or to escape pain, physical or psychological.

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