Thursday, September 07, 2006
What the Angels Want
The following poem is dedicated to Andrew Harvey, who has been a major force in my life. I will write more about him on tomorrow's blog.
What the Angels Want: the Prophet
(for Andrew)
They want you as their
sacrifice.
The lamb that lies down,
full of arrows,
roses blooming scarlet
at every opening.
They want you to speak endlessly,
your mouth, your throat
an instrument for that
which is hidden, has never been
said.
They want you to be available.
Time is short.
They want you to be forgetful
of everything that went before,
even your triumphs and accolades,
your ribbons of celebration.
They want you to continue forever,
like a pure ray of light
extending into the unseen infinite,
which does not bend, nor remember
its beginnings,
nor even when it passed over
into that other realm.
What the Angels Want: the Prophet
(for Andrew)
They want you as their
sacrifice.
The lamb that lies down,
full of arrows,
roses blooming scarlet
at every opening.
They want you to speak endlessly,
your mouth, your throat
an instrument for that
which is hidden, has never been
said.
They want you to be available.
Time is short.
They want you to be forgetful
of everything that went before,
even your triumphs and accolades,
your ribbons of celebration.
They want you to continue forever,
like a pure ray of light
extending into the unseen infinite,
which does not bend, nor remember
its beginnings,
nor even when it passed over
into that other realm.
