The forging

When you endure every insult
In a certain subdued space
You feel lighter and less tired
Offering a forced smile.

The unending task and loosing patience
Until the pace subtly defends itself
Not allowing to be dampen by the rain
Or letting the eyes confused by any flash.

No one at home not even emptiness
A world open to be scrutinized
While chewing the thorns of entire rosebushes
To prove rigidity in the immensity of will.

The air of the brave
Where passion comes from fear
That is cared for or neglected
Like someone who is in charge of an image.

Looking how tears turn to crystal
Dropping from violet clouds
And they dissipate unbroken
Dedicating their tread to the outrage of complaints.

Along the way of faithful people
Who hear the song of their fellow men?
Trying to accompany them but not listening
Because the price of loneliness over runs company.

And the courtesy you offered me
And the appreciation acquired outside of the world
And part of my lips are sealed
Where silence and word are fused.

Ending and beginning
Ecstasy in the midst of fatigue
The throat hoarse from screaming silently
The convergence of the suns of Giordano.

The skin of the ruminant that will become a scroll
Under the attentive watch of the scribe
The predicted twist in the heart
When comprehension is possible

Like the effort of two different persons
Making possible surrender and acceptance of a situation
Discovering the veil hidden behind a mask
Of two different moments that together creates the future.

And the feeling that all pains is justified
And the temptation in an instant when all is worthwhile
And the wisdom to contain and control the impulse
And the control to remain at the limit knowing it.

The green expression of lust
The green description of hope
The red of nature and normal things
The red of a rule that bleeds instinct and reason.

The seat of the throne
The table without a head
The dream of power
A dream unable to go further.

In the hands which can destroy
In the center that can shatter into ten thousand shards
In the moon smiling at celestial vanity
In the truth of the blind colors of birth.

Because once dead living people pray for them
Because in burning logs is implied home
Because what you set aside creates a task for the meticulous
Because nobody is superfluous in the plot of a perfect script.

For somebody who is nobody
For an objective that is not a goal
Because there are oppositions and solutions
Because there is something more after each word.

The Trinity in the veins
In the channel once created and then generated
In the sample and the copy
In an animated drawing in the soul of the artist.

Here is a slow stream
Of naked concepts
Where things beyond imagination arise
Open space and the point of movement.

With no freedom where chains did not exist
With no joy because sadness did not exist
The simple and impossible pressure
The divine forge that is fed by the whole.

–

Photo by Sérgio Rola on Unsplash