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  Wings of Light
99515 Poems Read
Sky Full of Legends
Another day shuts behind a
sheet of red madness—
this babbling sorrow—
but the real living is in
the flowering night,
the revolving temple,
vastness within vastness . . .
my other self on the other side
and the dark that lights the flame,
I am convinced,
we always were, though we
pretend to be blind
in this game of forgetting.
The only rules:
believe we are separate,
believe we are alone.
The owl cries for me, lover
of its billowing proverbs
and drops of eternity in
the wilderness of
deep living,
and I'm sure I heard:
Yes, this too is God
calling and loving,
Don't you remember?
Newly-minted stars spill out
of a well of legends
and lift me
to their place of
remembering—
I am tall as my fears
and microscopic as my fears
and something not quite
inside me swells
to a punishing joy:
too immaculate to stay,
too wild to be believed.
Don't you remember?
So how did infinity manage
to crawl inside my
one safe moment and become
so like a god,
so like all that lives
where the Truth
and the legends
are one?
Patricia Joan Jones
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©2000 - 2002 Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors.
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