Bottoms Up

  

It’s true. 
Sometimes you must
start anew
from the bottom up.
And not just once.
But often
on a hunch
you climb the ladder
reach for that highest rung
fingers outstretched
palms wide flung
curled tips in anticipation
of a firm grasp
no trepidation
but slip
fall flat to the floor
bypassing rung after rung
the places you reached before
gripping with all your might
flashing before eyes wide
whirring in a smudge of time
shocked and numb
til bottom hits 
and you think it’s done
and it hurts too much
but the spinning ceases
the dust clears
and your body works
not barely broken
and your heart strength opens
once your mind obeys
so you rise again
like a burning wingless wren
clawing and clutching
fighting air and doubt–again
dizzying your stance 
hands out
feet unsteadily chance
the ground
for the grab
and reach it.
You clasp
the bottom rung.

  
credit:  http://blogs.ft.com

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Prayer to Persephone

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Credit: http://www.polyvore.com/mythology/zabani

Help me live true in sight-full eyes not a blunted mind.
Force my face in cold hands to peer at towering truth.
Bring blackness and death to my skin soliciting sense.
Let me taste the seeds of sweet dread of the unknown.

For only the darkest night can steer the walks in light.
And bury bones in bottom sight risen up in flesh again.
When you left the sky-day to tend the night of the lord
Against your will in fright you un-shuttered mortal bind.

But how I love a tragedy’s turn, a rape to forest virtue,
Your serving grace hosting loss to death’s uncertainty.
Transformed beauty to daunting wisdom’s cool stares
Staggers all who chase visions glancing at their backs.

You, my sweet, eat pomegranate seeds to stay awhile
And leave behind a trace despair in lingering’s icy airs
For morrow’s bring and future’s care is set upon a fate
And you, my queen, have sat a’wait, a sceptered palm.

We of daylight’s blinding glare refuse her biting touch.
Only withdraw in sunny despair of leaving ever known,
A delusion of patterned brains on rickety stacks of lies.
In truth, we suck in rotted meat and vomit chaos’ dust.

Only she may opportune a chance at confusion’s toss
And whisk away the smoke that clouds nature’s burn.
For goddess glory engraves her image etched in sigh
A night’s shadowy beam she confers to all who yearn.