The Twisted Trail below Harmony Hill


“There is not a fragment in all nature, for every relative fragment of one thing is a full harmonious unit in itself.” – John Muir

“I play until my fingers are blue and stiff from the cold, and then I keep on playing. Until I’m lost in the music. Until I am the music–notes and chords, the melody and harmony. It hurts, but it’s okay because when I’m the music, I’m not me. Not sad. Not afraid. Not desperate. Not guilty.” – Jennifer Donnelly

“Harmony, gee I really love you and I want to love you forever, and dream of the never, never, never leaving harmony.” – Bernie Taupin/Elton John

For clear eyed I will rise on the season with this night past dead.

The pathway seems as I remember it, just colder with ghost of the path, a shame it is under the hillside, hidden so well in the past. The Alder it stands in a thicket, begging for a witch’s command, saying in spirits communion, let go of something you can. Dysphoria enters my neurons, shaking as old men or young men can do, when they ready their soul, to enter the darkness and fight the terror they knew. The twisted trail below Harmony bears thorns as depravity can. It matters not the story, the season that made life stall. The cold, cold touch of the daemon, his shadow that started it all. “Remand”, I say to the forest, “here where rotting leaves lay”. “Remand, the innocent childhood” from that flat stone where my young body lay”.

The Callaway plant lights the horizon, in the cold Missouri night. It sends its radioactive burdens to light my past burdens flight. The signs on the trail say “Jesus”, he makes your sins not right, and I wonder where was “Jesus”, when the boy on the flat rock cried. For there I hid in my secrets, the shadows they ran away. Daemon, I called you in thunder, you could not look at me the next day. However, I hid you in secret, those many years ago. Now I come upon this bare night, and strike the flat rock to let you go. Without malice you must go. You must go. For in the pools of frozen water, reflects a sight. Some do their deeds in darkness. Still, natures mirror is a light that holds keys. What dies here awaiting winter will seek the spring and rise to fly the wind, so free.

The pathway seems as I remember it, with Harmony up ahead, twisting turning, leafless branches tie and untie again. The Barred Owl cries in abandon, the sky grows rosy red, ashes to ashes, from my lost boyhood, something fills my head. No matter of all my transgressions, those omissions I might have stead. Adonai, the one who finds me, has led my soul until fed. This flat rock in this forest, beneath my minor head, provided me with strength of a union that spirit, never dead. There is no surviving in union, no victimization, to shed, for clear eyed I will rise on the season with this night past dead. “Remand”, I say to the hillside, “give harmony in all I wed”. “Let this trail go its way of sorrow, behold the blessings instead”. “Behold the blessings instead”.

For clear eyed I will rise on the season with this night past dead. – 10.23.2018 – דָנִיֵּאל

 

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Haunting Hepburn


She sets her lips in a Hepburn way, with a tiny little smile that questions the day, of which kind of manner will dictate thought, will it be a glass of sherry or a lemon drop. She sounds just like an actor from a sixties script, practicing her lines in her bedroom unkempt, and if she had to guess about the time or day, she would bubble up with laughter, with no mirth relayed. For the truth of all semantics, she mimics, in reflections lost in gray, is she is still a little girl with a wound homemade. For no matter what pop psychology might do or say, her moods a haunted star breathing ghost in dismay. She twirls as a pixie in late afternoon, the mirror upon her wall bemoans the evening like a coming ruin. The future night brings to her a devils moon. What would Audrey say?

The voice comes through mind tatters one might say it forms a part. A Motorola playing while faces dance so stark. “The beauty of a woman from her eyes is a doorway to her heart”, and it does not really matter what her father used to say, “Love from the heart comes through the eyes anyway”. A circle is opened from her auditory part, enchanting with verbiage to her soul and then her heart, and as she moves away, a soft British voice breathes, and tells her all she needs, “Nothing is impossible the word itself says I’m possible”. The answer she believes. The answer she believes.

She wears her hair in a Hepburn way, the bangs at mid forehead, where they will not stray, as she twirls through her bedroom in a fake embrace. What would Bogie say, if he were here to sweep her terrors away? Perhaps, perhaps she whispers to the day, for the night cometh where Audrey cannot stay, where the cold, cold fusion of the hardness of man, and a step fathers cruelty with his sinister hands. If the parts of memory would disappear like the scars on her arms from forgotten years, and who’s to say she can’t disappear, under a devils moon. Find that Motorola tucked away in her room, and transport herself away. What would Audrey say?

The voice comes through mind tatters one might say it forms a part. A Motorola playing while faces dance so stark. “The beauty of a woman from her eyes is a doorway to her heart”, and it does not really matter what her father used to say, “Love from the heart comes through the eyes anyway”. A circle is opened from her auditory part, enchanting with verbiage to her soul and then her heart, and as she moves away, a soft British voice breathes, and tells her all she needs, “Nothing is impossible the word itself says I’m possible”. The answer she believes. The answer she believes.

Certain quotes with much liberty taken from Ms. Audrey Hepburn – 5-1-2018 –דָנִיֵּאל