Chronic Eros Chronos

She seems to tiptoe across rainbows

as my world goes into slow motion.

If beauty is a raindrop,

then she is the ocean.

Spirit hears her every prayer,

carried by the air,

like pales of water,

to heaven.

And when they come back down to earth.

I dance. I dance in the thunderstorm. I dance in the wind. I dance under the tornado

she is a quiet hurricane.

the eye of the storm is the peace achieved

by realizing pain

is all there is

so much beauty

in a world

where death is our only master.

Sometimes you have to tell the tiger

how lovely she is

sometimes you have to tell

the lightning

that your glad it strikes

sometimes you have to tell the knife

that the crimson glint of blood

shining in the sun

stolen from your veins

belongs framed on no less brilliant a blade

she is the passing of the moment, she is the bending of time, she is the inevitability of fate

she is creation, and devastation

lover, and mother

the temptress seduced

consuming her hunter

she is spirit and body

a forest of flesh

a sea of soul

we often wonder

why we are born

if we then must die

the answer

is in her eyes

but to see her

is to be struck blind

to all

but the sight

of her memory

in your mind

and then life

is just right

and death

makes sense

again


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