Poetry by Lynne Tait

FOUND!!

My eyes trembled at the sight of it
Peacock blazing; obliterating memory
With a palette that my heart could not retain.

I have walked no splendour,
Opened no eyes that were blind;
Nor lifted lameness
Into the joys of dance.
Too solitary,
I have scuttled in shadows of maybe:
Alive to no hopes; only whispers
That I feared in their very alluring,
Afraid of the pride and the passion.

In the place of my hiding
No nail pierced hand grasps mine, save in invitation
(Which I always assumed was to mutual crucifixion)
And I ran like hell.
Was hell, my hell - inferno of non-being --
Losing, always, life.

This, the last delusion:
That I, while living, could so shut out life.
My monochrome walls were very flimsy things,
And the rainbow pressure built, and the stones would not stay silent.

Alleluia! cried the lightning.

Then, at the end of time, in the place of silence,
Where the soul lies cold-defenceless, and most warfare is abandoned,
Came the thin sound of the trumpet
Through the fog of non-desire.
I have loved too little;
Thrown no coin to beggars that bore my face,
Cuddled no lepers;
Knelt to wash no stained feet, and ignored my own
(Justifying, thusly, the thinness of my mercy,
By the old, sad numbness, the pathos of my soul.)
Now, how shall I explain
The coin long buried, my absence from all commerce,
While the ghosts that kept me prisoner
Retreated smirkingly?

Let me not look up.
Let me not behold the splendour
Of a life I deemed rejecting.
Let me not behold its glory,
Lest the longing break my heart.

My eyes trembled at the sight of it.