732000
7
Here in the quietness
like that of a silent root
growing deep into the earth,
I sit in the womb of my room,
contemplating a tributary
flow of imaging words
from the lexical river of verse;
sending streaming messages
to the belly of starving eyes.
Suddenly, and as quiet
as a shooting star
across the sky’s vastness,
a small black spider
eight-track its way across
a clear white wall,
disappearing into liberation.
If only our own liberation
could be as swiftly energizing,
rather than like the quiet
slow movement of a full moon
seemingly struggling across the sky,
reflecting the sun’s allegorical message;
albeit its waxing and waning.
The sun has always
had that bright symbolism
of resurrection—liberation—
new beginnings;
even though its journey
over valleys, across rivers, seas,
and over hunchback mountains
ends in a down setting
over the ever waiting horizon.
While panging venomous verse plots
to distort imagery messaging
in the lexical flow, anti-venomous
discernment, as quiet as a spider’s heart-
beat, opens a floodgate of wisdom.
Thus, it is revealed
that each sunset and each sunrise
marks another triumphant day
in the struggle, and despite
the darkness the moon’s waning brings,
there’ll always be bright tomorrows
bringing one closer to the liberation quest.
That something as venomous
as a black spider could be,
should initiate the webbing of
the tributary flow of this meandering
hopeful verse, is no less than a mandate
for pregnant poetic minds
to continue to ink the liberating word.
