Mary Magdalene

Gnossis.

Precious the feeling a gospel of roses my queen
Storms in a hallway with candles and wine don’t you see- you belong to me

You color my dreams like footprints in a garden of snow
Where all of these windows are breathless and no one can know
Stained whispers of Bronte a mirror where nothing grows cold
Don’t you know- you belong to me

One day we’ll grow old and the clock will harvest our scars
But I’ll offer death my feeling just as long as you’re buried six feet here with me

Face like a goddess moon bleeds in your autumn hands
You dress like the ocean and blossom with the stars don’t you see- you belong to me

You color my dreams like footprints in a garden of snow
Where all of these windows are breathless and no one can know
Stained whispers of Bronte a mirror where nothing grows cold
Don’t you know- you belong to me

Reviews

[emmah]

this is timelessness, your verse. it's a rare sense of tenderness, fragile, almost, layered with an even rarer sense of this overpowering, overwhelming benighted emotion that is many shades deeper than love.
as a reader, i found even the perceived clichés of "roses" and "footprints in a garden of snow" so exclusive - rarefied by "storms in a hallway with candles" and "where all of these windows are breathless and no one can know". i am stumped by the sheer singularity of your poetic vision and poetic expression!
the recurring images - "stained whispers of Bronte a mirror where nothing grows cold" - have an unbelivable haunting resonance - and again, the rarity of the vision is astounding in it's brilliance!
the third stanza is, to me, as a reader, the most compelling (in an intensely compelling verse). "the clock will harvest our scars" expresses such immeasurable torment from a reader's perspective that it lingers in an almost simmering hope for finality.
"moon bleeds in your autumn hands", "you dress like the ocean and blossom with the stars" leave one speechlessly attempting to comprehend the gravity of what is not said, what is not seen and what is not known.
"don't you know - you belong to me" - it's a final note that belies in a startling certainity the search for absolution that traverses the entire verse in a perceptible darkness.
i will say again, that i'm astounded by the uniqueness of your exceptional poetic expression! it's a verse that is piercing in some places, soft in others, melting, bruising at the slightest touch, flowing, brutal, brilliant!