Poem: Parables in Pomegranates
You speak of ancient journeys, wisdoms born
in the liminal places between dark and light.
They are the ones I know,
told from a different heart and a different time
by a storyteller whose words leave me awash in red.
I drink these parables in as a lifeline,
tidal waves of blood and fruit staining my lips.
I offer legend steeped in Mystery,
poured into small clay cups,
fragrant steam curling around your face,
ready to tell the fortune you can make for yourself.
Come into my halls, sit awhile, and be at peace.
We do not travel the same roads, you and I,
although many street corners are the same,
and the same ferryman receives the tithe,
making stops in many places.
My destination is mine, and yours is yours.
At the crossroads of our paths will I be,
ever shall you know I am there.
Seek me there if elsewhere you find me not.
for my counsel and solace leave for you the gates thrown wide.
I find my self loving the marvel that is you,
as one bright and shining thing to another,
and I know my place in the stars.