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The Young Glory III
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Stanley Gemmell
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Jul 16, 2008 17:25 PDT
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The Young Glory Third Canto
Flat surface to coastal slope to shore at edge
Of ocean, incline covered in aloes, sky
Flecked with stars, ocean inked in white-foam
Two panthers at their feet, one white, one black
Oblong moon warped full in the sky toward set
She wears a blue sash and silver robe
And he is dressed in crimson and white
A little off gambol two young, white lambs
The ocean breeze is cool, their eyes sparkle
During their time together they sip upon a cloven flask
Which they pass between hands unconsciously
Her lips sometimes tremble, his brow then furrows
Knowing time is short and however things may
Be explained his love for her is such that he
Would rather take the wound than her.
Vapors curl at the corners of their mouth when they speak.
This is what she says, "I am the Young Glory, my love,
When I speak flowers tilt their heads toward me.
At my grace the minotaur bows like the willow
And my dark eyes swallow the moon. Search yourself
Well and listen to my derivation, for both the hawk
And the partridge nest in my ridges and I have
Kept council with ancient things while you slept.
I was never indifferent to you, although I appeared to be.
I faced each hostile day with forty diamonds
Tucked to my breast, tears you left unshed
But which I still managed to gather
For I knew your simple dreams even better than you did.
Pallor kept watch over the windows you let open
I wandered among mirrors you let cloud
Tore holes in the sky above us when you were silent
And made the night bleed. I hoped for children
And I spoke curses upon your enemies who
Attacked me before you, knowing it the greater pain.
At night I folded back my trust into the streaming
Lights of your child's love and rested in your arms
Chaste as snow. Each time you died I revived you
And I garlanded you in laurels and crowned you
Victor over my unchained heart. Knowing the next
Day and the next would be the same and you would
Not stop drinking me. Although I begged you lordly
To never hasten the desperate struggle between
Fate and knowledge, hinting at my fatalism.
Now, though I am surprised, I did not expect you here."
He had taken her hand, pressed a smooth, pink stone into it.
"Many years ago," he began, "I never thought to love
This way. You are the Young Glory, your sacred mandala
Stretches East to West. You are the oldest wisdom.
The milk sloped and long neck of eternal springtime
Meets at your shoulders. Your long back bears the
Teeth of mountains and your belly is the basin
Of the river of life and death.
I have kissed your cheek and tasted immortality.
Your hands signaled me among deathless planets
To write your mercy in the spirals of the stars.
At your sex my third eye beheld
The beginning of all things. I am made of flesh
But you turned my flesh to life. A life beyond
Bone and torment, despair or the ravages of need.
You set me in paradise until no one understood me.
The language I spoke inspired them with terror
And confusion. My mind curled in among the
Equations of heaven. Some still seek certain descriptions
I have made of the slight downward tilt to your head."
The Young Glory smiled then, at the coast, looked
Up at the sky and shook her lion's mane with a laugh.
Love closed her eyes for a moment
A hiss escaped the heart, where there coiled
Emeralds cooling after a journey.
They talk of evolution
Watch the undines dance at the surf
The curve of her throat reflecting moonlight.
Deliverance of different freedoms
Each with a wordless music in their eyes
Her shining brow and pink, soft lips
Like birdsong to his glittering darkness
Night keeps watch from his gaze.
The ocean, coast and hill-slope
Are still a spectrum.
They assume each pole.
Beyond that they are one, as they always were.
She blesses his wounds for having warred
With severest passion, even his own undoing
All for her sake, made of marble
Her skin hardening, becoming blue veine'd
Growing cold as the orb set. He fired the arrow
Towards the earth's edge where ships had sailed at peril
Before he grew branches and sprouted leaves.
Their lips met in a kiss. Any who wandered
To that spot understood the marble fountain
And the rose tree.
The red and white flowers
Growing from the blue, marbled basin
And the silver waters running down the slope
To the sea. Two panthers, one white, one black
Who drink at the fountain, and two lambs
Who gambol nearby.
Thorns and fragrance mix with music
The water bubbles at peace in calm and breeze.
Beloveds met at coastal sunset's flame.
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STANLEY GEMMELL
JUNE, 2008
Temple2 http://www.angelfire.com/il/surlsone
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