Propelling Motion

At some point
the blindfold came off.
Opened a direct path
between the deep
roots of thought
and the subsequent
bloom of inmost belief.

The pinnacle
of the uttermost
is the intimate,
sharp edge
that I seek.
That place where
reality itself
cannot help
but fall down
to penitent,
awestruck knees
once it’s unyielding
finally sees
the gleam
of another
otherworldly way.

how rapture
suddenly bursts
from the forcefield
of the dark
like the dawning
break of a blinding day.
Pouring forth
a molten gold cure
that sweeps
the weeping
wound away.

A longing
far too long
lays the scripture
of screams to rest.
The exposure —
the crux —
the nourishing
of soft,
crumbling bread
broken by the
earthly hold
of folding,
grateful hands.

Watching how
sands away
the coarse,
linear line
of the dreaded,
of looming due time.
So shall it
forever remind
that there are
no definitive sides
to a center.

By Jamadhi Verise, ©2022
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