More Stoic Heroic Musings

(but soon …)

At the divesting, of all days,

you reveal yourself, Bella Rosa.

Illuminated, not before any;

but the one, that rests beside your bed.

Keep your regular times,

bide your time, alone, at times.

Afore, strongly did you proclaim,

seek one, more,

of special aspect, aspierents.

None could know,

but they, apparently.

So, that is change, is it not?

Likely you have not now,

the apt lingua franca

in your letterwriting pens, wands,

to let flow, emotive quests my way.

This threshold of day

and then crossroads,

beg the question of a heart one way,

head another.

And so I turn and turn,

cards, pillows, stones ...

I am ready, sun

oh, so ready, darkness,

to be swept off my feet, bodily,

by that healing wave that crashes, into such certitude.

Would kick down that door you held before me,

and then we might save us,

from final deluge.

What a story to be,

less penned, more sung, heroically,

by our rubbing bones!

Tell me not, reader of Psalms,

keeper of the font

that church door was only open,

solely, for Christmas devotions,

or just past, the scratching post?