Parable for Obscurity

Parable for Obscurity

Mere purity may not abide the breathless dawn
that even in its birth proclaims not innocence
but the virginity of time.

Yet with the rising wind, a shudder, all despoiled,
as in its hope for humankind is hopelessness for God.
The trees take up their compromise, frail fortitude
to greet with silent song a scene
already temporal. Man alone may speak,
and man alone makes prophecy of death.

It is the dawning unadorned of eloquence
that is the source of awe.
To speak of love or sacrifice,
of beauty hidden by a mountain mist
is to profane it in a house of age
.
For the marks of what is real
are not defined by birth and death
or by the footprints of a God
left by a careless tide.
No, there is more than beats upon our consciousness,
surpassing art, and making sport of good.

To shun the call that echoes out of reverie,
or not to know the nameless cavity
the heart reserves for stillness, is to set aside
a truth we did not carry in.

An afternoon's reflection on a hillside meadow
may leave empty hands and intellect,
but for the human spirit still spread forth
unseen star trails on the journey home.
~