this is the fairy tale as it stands
The King in exile
the instant we disobeyed
the green kingdoms slipping from His hands
and remonstrances fading the anguished
wringing of bells, the inward collapse of stars.
Adam where are you rang through all the fields
and then dissolved
oh Eve and they cried too as though on
a glacier breaking apart
swift unraveling the continent of the Heart
oh, Disappearing
the word Catastrophe flung into the abyss
to explain all of this ravaging
of what we were where are we now.
oh fond farewells...and fading, escalating
and then: nothing on either side.
no way to begin
just a Blank in time.
for aeons.
and yet, pink petals rained through all the Springs
and dawns came to the world, blue evenings expired
but in a kind of diffused, a slanted light
iced over geometries
ah, the Snow Queens...
and Beauty through a snaked universe
in mourning veils and mists
imploring
trampled by thieves, the grate steam rising
in which we could not recognize His face;
our own hands phantoms befoe us. we are
orphans worshipping stone
our insufficiency.
we are raised fists
we wept and then felt nothing
more than this nothing
settled in the labyrinths
building overproud, mute towers of
new desolations. innovations.
now we are blinded as in a deafening snow
alone, we stumble on sans poetry
though He is whispering in every tree
to the angels straying by His side:
still, I still can see them there
and I am everywhere;
they think that I am dead!
or something in their head
they must uproot
I love you, love you still! he cried
hoping to reach the other side
and small doves came
holding up his rainbows
at each end
to make Him laugh, forget for a little while
his depths of disconsolation
while He smiled an instant,
breaking down again...
years past. we slept.
and there were wars
the settling of scores
that could never be settled really
the scuttling of old plans.
the awful scars.
then music arose ocasionally played
and words flamed tipped end to end
the Divine ascents
the star over the lowly child.
oh come Immanuel.
the golden key
and not the beginning of sorrows infinitely discharged
though it is doomed, destined to seem so
for a long and afflicted time
still to come to the chamberless heart
while we sing carols to the dark.
and the holy infant cried.
mary angela douglas 15 march 2018
The King in exile
the instant we disobeyed
the green kingdoms slipping from His hands
and remonstrances fading the anguished
wringing of bells, the inward collapse of stars.
Adam where are you rang through all the fields
and then dissolved
oh Eve and they cried too as though on
a glacier breaking apart
swift unraveling the continent of the Heart
oh, Disappearing
the word Catastrophe flung into the abyss
to explain all of this ravaging
of what we were where are we now.
oh fond farewells...and fading, escalating
and then: nothing on either side.
no way to begin
just a Blank in time.
for aeons.
and yet, pink petals rained through all the Springs
and dawns came to the world, blue evenings expired
but in a kind of diffused, a slanted light
iced over geometries
ah, the Snow Queens...
and Beauty through a snaked universe
in mourning veils and mists
imploring
trampled by thieves, the grate steam rising
in which we could not recognize His face;
our own hands phantoms befoe us. we are
orphans worshipping stone
our insufficiency.
we are raised fists
we wept and then felt nothing
more than this nothing
settled in the labyrinths
building overproud, mute towers of
new desolations. innovations.
now we are blinded as in a deafening snow
alone, we stumble on sans poetry
though He is whispering in every tree
to the angels straying by His side:
still, I still can see them there
and I am everywhere;
they think that I am dead!
or something in their head
they must uproot
I love you, love you still! he cried
hoping to reach the other side
and small doves came
holding up his rainbows
at each end
to make Him laugh, forget for a little while
his depths of disconsolation
while He smiled an instant,
breaking down again...
years past. we slept.
and there were wars
the settling of scores
that could never be settled really
the scuttling of old plans.
the awful scars.
then music arose ocasionally played
and words flamed tipped end to end
the Divine ascents
the star over the lowly child.
oh come Immanuel.
the golden key
and not the beginning of sorrows infinitely discharged
though it is doomed, destined to seem so
for a long and afflicted time
still to come to the chamberless heart
while we sing carols to the dark.
and the holy infant cried.
mary angela douglas 15 march 2018
