We speak in parables,
layers peeling and falling to reveal steps,
leading to the grand gallery of divine truth.
Each letter of every word,
forming the hard rungs of a tall ladder.
pointing towards a crevice, hidden deep in the dark sky.
Guarded by armored Seraphim, a flaming sword spins —
at the starry entrance of the great divide,
nestled upon the rich fabric of the cosmos,
buried in the hypostasis of unknowing.
How shall you arrive? My unseen friend?
will you step forth in a robe stitched of rotted meat?
a thief in the night? a beggar knocking at the door?
Or shall you enter with hearts of polished gold,
with childlike eyes bathed in the glow of exoneration,
marveling at the twinkle of stars between your toes?
Between heaven and hell, the emptiness looms,
the dirt of Earth sings out her siren’s call,
Gaia reaches for our wandering feet to return.
We speak in poetry, ornamenting each letter
casting our silent spells, wiping at unseen tears
as we stand among you, ashamed of what many have become.
Fallen gods and goddesses,
shouting into the abyss of dreams and ego,
pleading for restitution relief and reward,
ignoring the calls of the ephemeral soul.
This is how we speak to the ‘uninitiated’ —
in smoggy words and shrouded forms,
in heaping sorrows and with heavy hearts,
in bondage cold and stark.
Let not your faith be guided by [deleted],
those without eyes shall make their own,
not knowing that the way out has always been,
from within [18].
