Ever on the threshold,
lonely vampire not succored as expected kin,
invited in.
Privy to what comes and departs, boring to extraordinary.
Random remarks might deliver fortuitous news, poetic codes.
Presence almost felt, never lucidly known.
Stories spin – if we could listen;
if we would open to silence so sublime
as to elicit
permission to enter, befriend.
Unnatural child, conceptive twin to faith’s wandering spirit.
We may play fool to monarch within protected space
unconcerned by wicked worlds beyond imagination’s fortress.
Classic optimists, prone to examine clouds closely for silver linings,
enjoy received silvery glow, smile happy adoration.
Able to skip through vicissitudes as charmed emanation:
all is working inexorably toward fruition, true harvest’s peace.
Who chants behind that flowing curtain, charming?
What acts denote sacred allegiance, guide to mystics’ source?
Tribal myths, quests as lessons, collected anecdotes
signify ambient science for that era’s delegation. 
Zen koans, Aesop’s fables, lullabies,
invitations to meditate, to quiet, ineffable experience.
This yearn toward meaning harbors no enmity
to progressive projects magnifying kindness.
Our internal enemy is ugly projection
of angry expectations each upon each.
I look for answers in epic verse, archetypes, fairy tales.
I don’t know if what I find bears validity, but they can be lovely,
lyrical adventures; lead into deep, complex emotion,
ecstatic movement and poetry, a need to share.
I am consecrated to beauty, in all it’s terrible majesty.
Exquisite agony is everywhere to be discovered, held dearly, set free.
I whirl, leap closer to the fire. Giant shadows swell with me.
Curiouser and curiouser.
Alone on elysian precipice, prescient winds blow, hot, cold, eerily.
Make Peace The Issue

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