Sunday, December 27, 2009

Inheritor of the light




Where colors twine
into myriad directions, misdirection
and what really was is not real
but over analyzed.

Mary there with sun in her eyes, smiles
in secret
never unlocked but keeping Man busy
She carries the light; she owns it; she shares it
but can we hear?

The twisted logic of academics
keeps the colors swirling and laughing
as the secrets of Him the Christ
Are plain
and unseen.

Mary is there behind and before
The Rose, the new direction of an old story
the womb, the inheritance

And the tears in her eyes as she looks at the blood
dripping from thorns to her hair
Are they tears of joy?
She knows
INRI

6 Comments:

Blogger Jon said...

a very interesting and subversive poem... it's a wonder that wonder of life was replaced with a mystery of some unseen deity...

thanks for sharing this poem Echo...

12/27/09, 2:33 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Wow Elva!! How is that your walk among mere mortals?? Your talent is truly a blessing ...

12/27/09, 5:39 PM  
Blogger Devin said...

Elva!
You are so very talented -and I like Jon and anon thank you for sharing this!
In the next days hopefully I can read more of your blog.
I hope that you will have a beautiful and joyous 2010!
all the best!!

12/28/09, 8:39 PM  
Blogger human being said...

.

INRI
Iesus Nazarenus, Rex Iudaeorum
Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews
(the inscription placed over Christ's head during the crucifixion)

INRI
Igne Natura Renovatur Integra
All Nature Will Be Renewed By Fire
(An Alchemists Aphorism)

INRI
i now rule i
(what i found through the journey along your insightful poem from the skin of appearance into the womb of consciousness...)

namaste!

12/29/09, 6:57 AM  
Blogger goatman said...

I was recently in a church for a wedding, and after we were invited to see how the priest and his minions had decorated his living quarters. Many Christmas trees decorated to the hilt and lights and ornamentation everywhere. Quite the sight --- breathtaking.
I noticed though that the backsides of the trees, in a corner or near a wall, were bare.

I thought this an apt metaphor for the presentation of religion brightly lit, as opposed to the actual practice and following of the behind-precepts and objectives of such.
(I like the poem)
Have a wonderful new year.

1/5/10, 12:35 PM  
Blogger weatherman said...

"and what really was is not real
but over analyzed."
loved it!

1/28/10, 6:20 PM  

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