May 1, 2014 § Leave a comment
You are crisp lines and aging brick
you are the wind whistling through alleyways
you are the graceful equation of the arch
and you are water-worn walls, sun-scorched rock,
ravens roosting on the growth of scaffolding.
The phoenix and the hawk
are migratory birds, all cycles
and the change of seasons,
burning and evolving
though the core nature yet remains.
Be my place of returning
with your streets full of secrets
your fine architecture, old and new
growing in the ways that cities do
in the turning of the seasons
in the cycles of the sun and moon.
I am my own sun.
I burn and shine of my own light
drawn from the worlds above, below,
the joy the pain the inspiration –
I light my own pyres, now.
Be not my igniting fire;
be not my captor, nor my hero.
Be instead my Heliopolis,
a stable place to build my nest,
to perfume with cinnamon and myrrh.
Hold me safe as I ache, and burn,
and am reborn.