A word spoken, perhaps; broken image, a sound,
Or sweet incense smell unbound on softest wind
Unbend mind and soul to remember some memory
Long lost and forgotten, but of what we know not;
Feeling rises deep-hot in mind and soul fraught
With truth of another kind ~ primordial, unsought,
Untamed, wild, ne’er mild ~ when earth was child;
We know with an unknowing knowledge unbeguiled,
In inner chamber of the heart, in part, not all
That there is more and has been and will be…
It’s an inescapable inner feeling, peeling away
Layer upon layer of time’s encrustation, frustration
And without hesitation spirit recalls first day
Of dawn, in the beginning, no apprehending of ending
In garden of life, no heart to harden, crime to pardon…
He stepped off onto the ancient Gerasene shore ~
Land of Alexander’s aged ~ where demoniac before
Nazarene cowered and in legion begged, but more
In rage ‘gainst divine sage on time-worn stage
Where played æons of battle seen, unseen
By naked eye, but why was he there that day?
Not to stay nor play, but called perhaps?
Yet so brief to bring relief to man possessed;
Nothing more, then, upon that ancient shore?
Ah! But there is always more to mystic lore,
Left shrouded in mystery, beclouded by history.
Powerful sensation from an eternal relation
Shared by humanity, though called insanity,
On the edge of reality; we know we’ve hidden
And show not any indication of recognition
Of memories we share in dream or nightmare;
Yet there is no escape from spiritual shape
Of ancestors gone before, who into us pour
From open heavenly door what divine likeness
We adore and abhor, as we rape God’s creation,
And drape funeral shawl over soul in denial
Of her own reality, in shuttered mentality;
But we cannot escape word spoken, broken image,
Sound, or incense smell unbound on soft wind
To remember memories long lost and forgotten.