Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Storm Ritual

rainbow ripples - March 11, 2015s

author’s note:

"Maybe, baby"
       -- Buddy Holly


STORM RITUAL

Why didn't I run away
when I saw the tower
of purple-black storm clouds
rushing toward me?

Maybe I was so desperate
to wake myself alive
I'd risk the blast of those lightning bolts
breaking the anxious air
into shards of shadow and light--

maybe I wanted to again be the child
who can find glee
in stumbling blindly
through hard gray draperies
of merciless rain

but maybe I was also responding
to a deep desire to wash myself clean--

to crack some hard dark block
resistant to the daily process of attrition--

maybe ever so often
this grown-up likes to imagine
how that freedom would feel

and maybe the child knew
sunlight would follow the darkness
and at the end, he'd have the joy
of standing in a bright puddle
with his shiny body shimmering
like a sounded gong

and maybe the man wished
to undergo a ritual:

a symbolic act
made real by the risk.

Maybe such acts are for fools

but maybe this fool felt the need
to remind himself of this stubborn hope:

the dream of returning to you
with a soft rainbow in my left hand

and a fierce sun in my right...



© 2015, Michael R. Patton
myth steps: the blog

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