reweaving threads unweaving – with apologies to robert okaji


there is a cruelty to it*

(to the Muse of muses and her shadows)

“The life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.”

-Thomas Hobbes

cruelty1

we are born to strive to understand

without understanding the struggle

 

there is a majesty to it

 

we are born to seek a beloved

without a beloved to love

 

there is a cruelty to it

 

a ten thousand faceted harshness

keener than a sacred warrior’s blade

 

there is a majesty to it

 

a starry brilliance awaiting birth

hidden within the hart of darkness

 

there is a brutality to it

 

a compelling darkness arising

forcing us to seek without knowing

 

there is a majesty to it

 

a kaleidoscopic transcendence

a blissful danse so mysterious

 

there is a cruelty to it

 

love’s danse through brilliant complexity

compelling a brutal symmetry

 

is there not a majesty to it

 

can we not resist love’s cruelty

nor deny our love’s brutality

 

are we born of love to die for love

 

the consonance of gentle midnight

with the dissonance of high noon

 

to die for love are we not born of love

 

amidst dawn’s sapphire fluidity

embracing dusk’s amethyst finality

 

is it there beloved that we are yours

 

is there not a dignity to it

chaos integrally embracing order

is there not a finality to it

 

or is it here my love that you are ours

 

as you are not there so are we not here

sweeter rebirth dansing with bitter death

within the far edge of swirling stardust

 

must we always my love arise again is

cruelty2

there so little charity within our hart of harts

chrétien marc valentin

(© 2 août 2014)

 

*the unpublished first draft of this poem was first composed in 2005

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