Poem: The Brazier & the Rose

A tale of heart break, of the tragedy and sorrow built in affect of wearing masks to act as a proverbial airbag to loss. How love is sealed away.

The rose sings a song too cold to match its red

And yet I am falling into it.

The hellebore weeps a tale of sorrow – foreboding and beautiful,
And yet I fall into it

Each meets a different face, a mask to close to the likeness of skin to be shackled by ribbon or clasp at the bare of my head. To surreal to be flesh and tender.

A sigh that rings the waves of every ocean, meets you, and I am there behind the petals that adorn the thorns, I am there waiting on that sharp rock, nestled into the wind.

I am there singing a cold song a wanting of warmth, like Apollo, blesses on the silver star trees cradled in the mountains - that ache at the veils of earthly ribs, of dust and lost clouds.

I am there beyond the waves,
Frightened your ship built with trees, would be crushed in the storm - and the journey to my safety would mean my loss of the very fire that would sear away the tragedy of masks.

Oh the faces that greet the stars,

How they must ponder their vision

Wrapped in silk and diamond eyes,
Oh the terrible mirror of vacuous vex that dances to death

To shake the ephemeral longing to join them

And so from that chamber of blood the instrument of desire sheds the face of wonder

Here, there is sorrow at the edge of despair

All the more encouraging to the jest of love

And yet.