the hero’s journey

three sisters veiled in white:

the spinner, the measurer, the cutter
and i, my back turned to them - a blind eye,
trying to locate that place where fate enters life -
like an arrow piercing the soft flesh of time;
this is the beginning of all things:

fate and necessity - inseparable cohesion; 

there is also the voyage
towards the loftier shores: perfection, order -
maybe just an imagined quest of discovery and knowledge
or a sign of hubris - the noble heroic striving
to defy a dark god who prefers us meek
and frightened of the unavoidable tragic end.


reflection

sinking deeper and deeper 

into the black silence;

counting the stars -

milestones of loss,

constellations of mourning;

never-ending fall -

mysterious gravity

of a dying planet

burning somewhere

on the edge of the galaxy of pain…

i close my eyes and imagine

my true face in the soul’s mirror:

i see a gentle animal,

voiceless,

resigned to its fate.


the corridor of waiting

we navigate the labyrinth of illusions with great care -
it seems that someone up there is constantly
shifting, re-arranging its dimly lit corridors,

burning blueprints, erasing signs;
we wait, we turn to stone, we eat the silence, what else is there to do?

and in that slumber of fear

we summon images of a passage to a dreamless winter

we imagine a love that cannot be

we unravel old mysteries

and gain a measure of clarity…

we hope to find the way out;
but aren’t hope and waiting

dark corners of the maze?

isn’t the quest just the universe

deceiving itself?

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