She walked a path. Paved. With all that is luminary. Pushing her child.
A path of broken stars and glowing debris of shattered ships,
Adrift in a common motion and a mutual pattern of
Unrivaled order, making for her a bridge; bent on the lower
Lip of the sun that, in the near distance awaited the taste of
Her scorched flesh and the sting of her ashen linen; for it is
Too rare a occurrence to just enflame her now and forget
The coming savor of her being and the memory of her screams.
Ignorance filled her nose, for, in the grooves and spaces of her path
Flowed the blood of fallen fools scorned; cradling an aroma and;
Holding the path as one, keeping the ears of its components
Shut from the warm whispered calls the surrounding light exhaled.
Forsaken, was the true sweet aura of her path, now, replaced by
The breath of worthless prayer; filling the liberty of her
Desired silence, with, lost voices trapped within a lie mistaken for hope,
Like the lost pearl of our Father, thought to be hours and hours alone.
Though the voices be overwhelming they, embrace distortion,
Sharing a common platform with the sound of sizzling tears, fresh
From the eyes of our one true God; as they blessed the heated path
Shaking it with grief, but still, its ignorance remained unmoved.
Upon this path she walked, upon this path she moved; pushing her child,
Asleep within a vessel that paved that very way in an eternity past, now,
Pushed again as an ordinary pram robbed of the soul of constructive
Motion once found dwelling in its bars, wheels and fabric.
Drained, it presently is, for if it were not; her feet would not be firmly
Placed or trapped by the nets of an inescapable force that now has her driven forth.
Her gloves of illumined white composed of silk clothed, her gentle
Grip on the scales of her balance, as, onto the pram she leaned,
Though her form was flawless; the nearer she draws to her blistering fate
The more she wavered. The formerly calm ocean in her essence tossed and boiled,
Moistening her gloves with a fragrance unknown but pure,
Fatal in its reach for the mortal sense she knew herself immune
And hardened, safe, in the impenetrable cocoon of her immortality.
Round her neck and down her chest fell and draped a scarf,
Glowing at its tips it squeezed the weak attempts of
Her composure’s escape, back, into her neck; forcing it up
Back into her head with steeds and whips of cotton, twisted
With the notion of sustained bravery or death. Till’ the imps
Of her control fled into the corners of her illumined mind;
With the curse of streaked backs and shivered there;
With their eyes buried in their palms, concealing the resonance
Of their shimmering glimmering moistened glazed cheeks.
Her dress worshiped this purpose too, in its illumined purple;
It squeezed, tight, holding her physique as one, muted her limbs,
Keeping her organs from conversing with ashen minds seeking to grow,
Needing more parts disgraced with the curse of; being reduced,
By the suppression of fire to nothing but ashen dust. “Burn”
They whispered relentlessly. But her dress refuted. Having none of it.
Draping flush, against her form. It rendered her perfection vividly apparent;
Amplifying the shy muttering of her meek magnificence, till’ deafening.
Conjoined, were her velvety straps with the resilient shadow
Pasted; on her sleek back, as arched bridges serving the footing
Of her rear cool over to her front, where her breezy bosom lied,
Contained beneath the ripples of her dress and the shadows
Casted, as shade in the valleys where her cool composure dwelt,
Always shuffled by the running down of spirited hands of
Dead ignorance trying to end her walk. But she did not feel it.
Beneath her feet came kisses from her shoes, laying latent lips
On her souls from glossy red shapes and piercing heels,
Disintegrating the path as through bitterness she pushed,
Spewing shockwaves from its tips with relevant force,
Gaping the void at her hind all the more, under the sound
Of all that crumbled and fell. Of all that stumbled and yelled.
Cradled with a stable touch were her feet, over the rough of her path,
And the falling of its pieces; she did not stagger or fall.
Her path’s genesis knew her heels to be long and her feet
Captured in an image no mortal could stand, though through
The naked light of her bitter push; her heels grew short the nearer she drew,
To the sphere of her end and the source of her glow.
After many steps and heated breaths, she at last;
Stood before Dies Natalis Solis Invicti; the unconquered sun,
With a glare potent in all virtue, fixed, on the light. (more)
When in short moments passed; she whipped her hair forth,
Every strand and wire pulled, to great lengths, reaching
For nothing but their growth’s pinnacle and the start
Of forming that in which she instructed, cleverly cautioned
By the buckled energy shooting from the cannons of her mind
And the foreign words that from her lips. leaped.
Deranged in its slithering motion, in fast moments,
The shape of a rose fastened, solidifying in its brown beauty;
And, wired intervals running soft tuning in to the coarse
Sniggers of the purest mortal hair the hands of those masque line love to touch.
Aloft the rose she rose, till’ placed on its centre,
Disposing of her pram; she cradled the child in her arms
Whilst, her dress draped over the rose veiling all its parts in elegance,
Blessing it with velvety purple and the touch of her heels on its petals.
Wrapped round her mouth and nose became her scarf, whilst,
She rose her right hand of silk, gracing the stars with the touch
Of her fingertips and the stimulating shivers it brought.
“Come now” she whispered, from her supple lips of delight,
Calling forth all sadness to come claim the gift, her rose,
Of eternal design, now, filled with the child’s giggles of joy;
Consumed by it but; whole, radiant and firm in the midst of the searing sun.
When from the earth and other shattered globes, bearing no light,
Came a plague mighty, composed of only tears, pushing through
Space into a collective embrace of mutual pity and grief,
Forming a cosmic hand, that, slowly propelled toward the flower,
With; widespread fingers ever ready to grasp its prize.
It drew nearer and nearer, eclipsing her view of earth and
Filling the air with that one dominant quality—sadness.
When teary heated moments before she was taken,
Drenched; in the pity of man and all else, with the solar deity
She merged and put the sphere in its grasp, concluding all,
In bursting clouds of screaming steaming apparitions.
Once all slumbered in a bed of dark silence, her scarf dropped
And the petals that sheltered her opened, as her hair and
Dress regressed back into an acceptable notion and form.
The pungent darkness made known to man their many sins,
The skin of pagans glowed with the writing of their flaws,
And the prevalent truth that God is all and there is no other.
This, being their only light, drove hordes of malice into the fields
Of their minds and iron feet hard onto the pastures of their doctrine.
In end, consuming most. Filling the earth with idol carcasses;
And staggering priests falling over the dead; weeping in pity,
Before embracing the grave, for they too, were imperfect.
Dark years away, she released her child in the shell of a steady drift,
As her eyes grew dim, compressing all of her being into her heels that,
In end, released a wave of life that woke the dead with arms bearing
A fraction of her tender care. Far and wide earths inhabitants rose their
Cheeks to lips of mercy and pressed their hands toward a new source of light,
That now, was in the form of a child, cosmic in his sleep.
The Son of God became their warmth, shedding light
On the realm of their second chance. Pagans became believers,
Casting idols into crushing arms and gnawing teeth, then,
Lived anew in light of the Son. In his goodness and mercy.
Whilst Mary, drifted in the blackness, deafened to the calling of her Son and Father.
Forever and ever. Amen.
