Fire is colored by unspent fuel, carbon, blood and sinew; the hottest flame can’t be seen and burns the deepest in you.
This poem is dedicated to my fellow Bahá’í brothers and sisters throughout the Middle East, but specifically those in Iran and Yemen, who suffer immoral and unjustified imprisonment and loss of basic human rights for their religious beliefs. Religion should be a force of love, not oppression or condemnation.
It is a re-post of the first poem I shared on this site in November, 2012.
Thank you for reading Certitude. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain. As always, I look forward to your comments.
The photograph was taken one cold winter night at a winter festival held at Old Sturbridge Village, an historical living museum. To see my photography blog, please visit the Book of Bokeh.
They say that sometimes at night when your breath billows softly white and the snow crunches loud in the silence, when the pale moon hangs overhead, large and bright,
that on your dark trail you can meet the one who will, with all the lies of the world and all the fears in your heart, tempt you and deceive you and break you.
I do not believe this. I meet that one everywhere.
The Devil at the Crossroads trope is a persistent and imaginative theme in western literature and this poem came out of some pencil doodlings I was doing one day. But even as the poem developed, I knew its end truth: the demon is always me, my ego—and, in society—us, ours.
Thank you for reading When you walk alone. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain. As always, I look forward to your comments.
The photograph was taken in New Hampshire one cold winter night. To see my photography blog, please visit the Book of Bokeh.
A symphony’s endnote is a flurry of emotions, transcendent with joy and resolution. When you left, you stole that last note away and bound me to the drone of the next-to-last.
I saw others getting back to their lives and would think How can you?Don’t you still hear it? It grew quieter, that droning, and I sometimes wondered if it had gone silent; but whenever I looked it was still there. As long as I can find it, so are you. There. Sort of.
If you doubt the idea of the resolution of the key of a great symphony, listen to the last movement of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony (the movement of movements, of the symphony of symphonies, by thecomposer of symphonies.) Jump to the 9:55 mark in the recording to hear the full ending. After that, listen to at least the previous few minutes of the recording to get a feeling for the piece and then stop it before that final note. It hurts, you miss it so. Not getting to hear that final note…that is what the loss of a loved one is.
Thank you for reading Something to hold on to. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain. As always, I look forward to your comments.
The photograph was taken in Hilton Head, South Carolina. To see my photography blog, please visit the Book of Bokeh.