Rimbaud's Rebirth
I was licking the dirt off my own shoes
searching for some magical sweetness
that eludes me on the heels of everyone else.
I covered myself with the stains
of my own green grass of envy.
I crawled on the slick mud surface
praying that it would turn to quicksand
so that I would be sucked under
never to return to the clean and visible land.
But the sun, sneaky devil it is,
breaks through the clouds
to enlighten and then to dismay
when it disappears again.
Whenever it shows its pristine face of promise
I am deceived into thinking that it will last.
So I stand up and wipe myself off
only to be knocked down again by a stray cat.
I will stroll down the cracked street
looking for faces similar to my own,
lending themselves to lost time
in the hands of dreams and starlight.
I will see the stars in the sparkle of their eyes
and I will want to jump inside them
until I drown in the milky waters
deep below the surface of their glowing galaxies.
When my ghost white face comes up for air
I start to flap my arms like wings to hope again.
If I could only reach the shore line,
perhaps I could learn how to swim.
Men on boats pass by and cast a curious glance
before they turn around and throw their nets elsewhere
. Suddenly I want to plunge to the depths
of this netherworld, its water freezing the fluids of my body,
turning my heart to a glacier and my brain to thin layers of frost.
I am consumed, to the core of my being,
with warn coffee and love.
All hours of the day are filled
with one eclipse after another
and the piercing rays of light are consistent
in almost but never quite blinding the eyes.
I was saved in the empty room of ignorance
and the darkness was a paradoxical messiah
when I opened the door just a crack
to see what was out there.
I found out where the demons really dwell,
not in the black abysmal caves of dementia--
although they do follow me there--
but rather in the hypnotic morning sun beams,
which turn to mourning clouds of haling glaciers.
Oh Christ Savior! Ascend me up above the dreams of dread!
Wait no more, I am on my last heartsbreath!
I am sick with the wickedness of my enemies
because I want it all for myself.
I would have them all break loose
from their abominable cocoons
and grow your hand crafted wings made of gold
but light as feathers.
Hear the hearts that soak their veins
with the tears of a seemingly imminent doom.
The hourglass is weighted down at the base,
and underneath, the table about to topple.
The broken legs and the scarred landscapes
will no longer make our hearts shine with joy.
This very day gazing our scattered surroundings
searching for a hope in faith or a faith in hope
or the gentle hands of mercy
to cross the barren paths of want.
When my head surrenders to the swirling spiral
of the dizzy sleep-swim
I open myself up to let Inspiration in.
I am alone with my comrades of warmth.
Oh Lord, you dwell with them in my heart,
and in the depths of my turmoil and chaos
you see the souls of love and the paradise of dreaming hope
Oh God, take me there!
© 1998 Matt Russell