The Insoluble Cremation

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Religion and Spirituality  |  House: Phoenix Poetry

Submitted: March 04, 2018

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Submitted: March 04, 2018

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Spheres of flesh without centres ignite the unfamiliar approach of Sunset, reflecting endless consistencies of life, fashioning light through services commemorating anguish, the rhythms repeated in auditoriums belonging to the entirety of Nature not yet received; the ink of innocence, a grudge strengthened by abandonment; — sap scurries across winds, slipping through dyed grass and hollowed oak, sticking sight to a miniature festival testifying a New Beauty, the lifelong ambition shadowed only by basic remorse! — The Divine Exchange of instinctual reaction departs youth, the forever returning ephemeral performance, disintegrating under a Summer light blackening winter, a season which has no need to see us again. 

Slumped down, in each others arms, on scaffolds beside purple waterfalls — the all too familiar feeling which indicates nothing, no victory, no loss, but an aftermath sets in our stomachs, reminding us both of the horizon in Venice; — too silent to be understood as anything but decay, I watch on as ancient actors find themselves jagged and bleeding in the foam of the rapids, - our breath loses its significance once again. 

You, a-sleep, are the cause of my constant agitation - Hell without words, without hilarious instability mortifying recognisable heroes — you have never spoke of the advantage of being alone! 
Instead, you laugh with me. The plea our fathers made before birth! 
Does my flesh dissolve to golden fragments emitted only by the Sun as you wait for me? — Am I a thing to know at all? …

Ah! No…History! No Will! No Perfection! No remembrance of the magic creating existence! Here we find ourselves, forever... Nothing left but a distinct homesick, a life dependent on others for everything but Fortune
— What a waste of Love I Am! 

I I

The Divine Exchange of instinctual reaction departs youth, the forever returning ephemeral performance, disintegrating under a Summer light blackening winter, a season which has no need to see us again.

Progression is as constant as the howling neophyte preying on the fate which killed his Mother. 

Does my flesh dissolve to golden fragments emitted only by the Sun as you wait for me? 

etc…etc…etc… 


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