BELLATRIX

For you the walls are down.

It’s the way,
when your voice chimes my name,
that I’m dead in the tracks.
And that pitch,
sweet as nectar of spring’s first clover,
resonates to the depths of time.

It’s knowing
that your hair has been caressed
by the breeze of a hundred seas
and been infused
with the whisper of the beach-break.

It’s because you know how to ride,
how to answer the tide
and have heard the cries of the sinking earth.
You and I know the need for change,
and know the changeless change.

I know your heart is adventure.
I know your soul is discovery.
I know those roads call out to you.
I’ve ever heard them beckoning too.

In the dream I can see,
in the crossroads of silken sunlight,
you and me
in a warm symmetry of smiling eyes.

———-

SECULAR PROPHETIC REBUKE

This side of heaven
nothing is visited from the ether.

And heaven might be a swindle.

Preacher
pays
no
taxes!!!

Preacher
procures
his
private
plane!!!

INSANE!

INANE!

PROFANE!!!!

It is we
who must render
material unto ethereal.

The inverse,

PERVERSE!

has shackled us to gods of war,
demons of contention,
monsters of infantile invention.
Evangelical,
fanatical,
capricious,
humonculous
anthropomorph
that our failings bring forth.

It is we
who must make substance sublime.

He who has ears to hear…should take a glance.

© 2015 Adam Lowis

The Big Windows Review 6 (Fall 2015)