Poetry in Motion:

Every once in a while I will publish a poem to frame my emotions into some perspective and assert my human face.  They may get dark, but I do welcome comments that will help me understand my life within them.

This is my attempt at the poetic form Glosa.

My Human Face

Cruelty has a human heart,
And Jealousy a human face;
Terror the human form divine,
And Secresy the human dress.

From A Divine Image by William Blake

Sadness comforts the goodness in me
as I wither along in wasteful woe,
eroding with the inhumanity of this life;
Begotten by unrequited courtship,
it leaves this soul of mine unmerited,
as if humanity’s flaws–mine, a grain of sand–
gives design to Divine from me to depart.
It leaves in me an unquenchable chaos–
to wonder: but who’s mistake imparts,
Cruelty has a human heart?

If you happen to gaze upon the eyes
to a multitude of iridial temperaments,
within lies Iris, in virescent vestment, vying,
coveting–however fancy–at the heart,
for the richness to satiate its own;
Thus, as long as man–divine or earthly–lacks grace
to cast an eye upon the merriment of others,
then hope for me is lost–for, I envy.
Absolute; It bestows resentment’s lofty birthplace,
And Jealousy a human face.

Thus, I wonder in throes of cruel emotions,
lest Fear runs amuck, excused from reproach,
Indignant!–Not a pittance of remorse
for the pittance of my soul, which is without pith;
Brimming with unrighteousness of Creation;
It has exhausted an innocence’s shine
to the dullness–fright can only imagine.
Dare I say, at risk of unhallowed words:
Does divinity’s truest form entwines
Terror the human form divine?

So, in earnest, honestly—no lie: I have secrets;
They lie explicitly, splendidly! under
secular facade, hidden beneath the flaws that bind me.
Poetic–seemingly–in all its contemptuous forms;
Bearing a loose semblance of spiritual sleight,
because when we hide from each other we digress.
Borne from the Absolute, inscribe in the accountable;
A manifestation. An abstraction; stagnant.
It is in the dimness of faith, the divine will express,
And Secresy, the human dress.

It is in misery that we thrive; without it, we cannot flourish.