
Arcana I
by Pey Pey Oh
I used to be a woman wrestling with lions.
Tangling with my shadow self day after day.
Who was she?
That smug empress under the pink blossom,
The mother of the world, harmonious harbinger.
I am amazed they have the same face and the same hair.
The lady with the lion has got a good grip.
Razor teeth, silky mane packing some solid muscle,
I, too, live in this lion’s den and wrestle daily with him.
In the now, I’m on a journey to get where I am going –
The chariot has no reins; the horses, prone to stampeding.
I have to lash them to my will and coax their velvet noses
With only my bare and capable hands, and my stubbornness.
Behind me lies the ruined tower, lightning struck
The empty house, the fragile self.
The outcome to this story, well it’s bright:
Flowers flourish under bright rays of gold,
Blessing this maker of dreams, roses under his feet.
Raising the wand of creation,
The magician’s bold, his cup
Runneth over, and infinity is sweet.
© Pey Pey Oh 2009
Listen to this poem:

"raising his wand of creation" *giggle*
ReplyDeleteTypical! Bring the tone down then Machinist.*giggles too*
ReplyDelete