I
How insightful of a breeze,
of breath and of
a thousand sighs
to run the earth's width
and eternity's size, O this
shapes, fumes and a hundred
wicked curves
all wrapped up in tens
and folds...
how now can this
death be rewarded
after they had gathered
before the One
and cast themselves
into the fire...
II
Had they
been
born out of steam
whose unbodied
entities
eludes
the realm of light...
they had
thrown themselves
not downwards
but across
the seas of heaven's
firmament
and its violent storms
will make them
shiver
once more...
III
Soon
only the chosen
survives the
test
not of strength
but of will,
not of goodness
but of will,
not of intellect,
but of will,
not of perfection,
but of will...
IV
Finally
the clouds
of a mournful day
would demand a cry
more violent than the
agony of the human shriek
nor of a failure no
god can endure...
the dark clouds had
burst and given life
to a darker nightfall
winds, howls, and the
shrill caws of crows.
then
one by one
these souls that
had thrown themselves
into the fire will once more
face with death,
not to fear but to tease.
And so with
stern arms behind
their backs
and will riding
through their eyes
unhesitant to
challenge their own
labyrinth
and the oblivion of
their own being,
they fall.
i am without words
no voice,
no music
but that which comes
from my fall,
when my hand
meets the ground,
or the leaf,
or the hat
of a man
you don't know.
i am without
rest when i am
but when i stop
then it is not i
for i never do stop
falling.
when the golden arch
towers above your eyes
and the heat like straw,
sips my tracks
and leaves nothing
of my memento,
you must know
that i am
no more-
for it is not I-
i never stop falling.
and the ground
is never dry
where i'm walking.