“For I thought this ruler a taskmaster, wanting only words, that goodness would have sown, and much to my surprise he loved darkness as much as I.”
A shadow walks with Dante, indeed it has trailed him since he was born, and all the reason for his vanity, his cause of being just alone, cannot take from him the prayer before him, that one that leads him home. If he were to find great passion, some words to warm his bones, some majik on the horizon, that place that some have known. Then it is, he’d be forever, warmed by a stellar glow, some heat beyond indignation, the warmth of hell that he does know. For Dante rides imagination, this muse that seems so cold, but he does need to find salvation, for even ghost have to know. That though some words they lead an army, some thoughts they kill a soul, there is no substitute for adoration, when with some words passions are sown.
A boot he throws upon this highway, a step and more this Dante goes, for in his search of G_D’s own mercy, it starts his fever so. For he is the shadow of depression, the shrew that spins the morbid lows, the talent of libation. When liquor makes an author know, all of the rhymes of desperation, the ritual of the blow, the gasp of tears of sadness, the requiem where wordsmiths sow. All of this when life is harmful, all of this, this Dante knows, it cannot last a generation, these verbs of harm, this muse has chose. And so it is he strides a byway, a darkened trail upon the land, he chooses higher passage, to ask the one of what is planned. In serious doubt he looks to heaven, where rafters paint a sky, the moon that charts his laughter, the madness of his lies. And there it is a grand formation, a redness of the dawn, instruction for his coronation, not wrath for what he’s done.
And angels light bright candles, his knees they strike the land, for unto him there is given, a better answer than his plan. For it is true G-D loves a sinner, a spirit that gives to man, a daemon of the firelight, that quotes sweet words to what is mad. For this king needs healers, and words of charm, and innocence. To sooth his troubled existence, that boils within. But in this world of stasis, the need for balance must prevail. The truth be known about this sovereign, the need for Dante does exists. To bring the banter of all knowledge, of dreams of tortured bliss, for it is that there is mercy, and goodness of the words persist. They do persist.
“For I thought this ruler a taskmaster, wanting only words, that goodness would have sown, and much to my surprise he loved darkness as much as I.”-08.23.2015-דָּנִיֵּאל
*For my muse Dante, who is always there. J