Tuesday, July 5, 2011

The Crimson Bath

Post prism
Angular dissension
A delicacy, a toast
For those lacking light the most

And so I drift away, to a place I once knew so very well,
A universe unlike this one, a place where homes are carved in stone,
Where troublesome letches rove the dark extensions

Hours in comatose
Stumbling cross the craggy fray
Middling moments
Of great reverberation
Songs of echoic chants repeat their play
Over and over, again and again
I can’t get their words out from my head

Fur placed by river’s shore
In the water I reflect upon atrocities
So soon forgotten despite their retention of warmth

Like spores popping conscientiously
I see my face in its entirety
A slow step back brings my frame to focus
And the memories flood my thought canal
         Painting cornerstones a myriad of shades
The vivid and the off hue

For an eon it seemed to stand
A frozen man, without
Yet amassing swarms of enemies
Bathed in crimson,
                  Not just the flesh, but also, the question marks as well
          How did this cleansing come to be?
                  Was it birthed in pleasure or necessity?
         What languages speak in tongues like these?
And even the voices shake their heads…
                           Why has recollection shunned me so?
To steal the process from the skipping stone,
To dwell so far yet ogle my position from deserted throne
                  Leaving me with only prayers to own
What is the origin of such constructs?  
                   Is it in me, has this been the case all along
Or is it within parts yet to be seen?
Who is the architect of such a mask?
         Were these hands meant for callousing?
If so, then why has the subconscious purged remembrance so thin?
                           Into the crystal wash I walk
The scarlet I desire weakened; pray at all cost it’s forever lost
Upon submersion
How many sins shall wash away?
Where will the currents take them?
Will they regret? Will they every truly go?
Will they feel isolation, as they drift along without home?
Or will their next host embrace their cruel glow?

         From phosphorus to dust
From anxiety to life
                  We wash the crimson clean
                           Arising, from beneath the fluid screen
Hair compressed to nape
Levity is quiet still; levity may have died this day
Yet/ Reborn I feel/ lighter than I have ever been


  1. Levity such a BAD movie..haha, now that, that is out of the way.

    I often thought about what it be like to have amenesia and experience things again. But as you say nothing would be washed clean, for you it could be but the world it won't, or your surrounding world. Really thought invoking piece, nice job.

  2. Whoa! Where am I to go with this, without penning a fantastic essay, ripping through each and every thought provoking line, the occasional rhyme, the flawless flow of your words as they paint an electric canvass. Struggling through the unknown soft tissue of our hidden selves, battling the definition of sin, hating what gets discovered. The confusion, the purge, finally coming to the light and washing clean. You do like making people think, don't you! You've have presented so many layers for me to attempt to peel back, and I gotta say, the title rocks too!I can see the broken soul, left to bleed out in the cold cast iron of an ancient claw foot tub. (Sorry...fingers were flying too fast, didn't realize I had written the essay!) Color me crimson...and more than impressed :)

  3. ok, this has a wicked flow to it...and some really cool imagery...i am not sure what just happened but it was pretty cool...smiles.

  4. I quite enjoy this and feel I need to read it a few more times to let the full marinate of it settle in. Quite a captivating life narrative. ~ Rose

  5. Pat, thanks for the visit. Great feedback, right down to the film reference. Glad you enjoyed:)

  6. Natasha- essay's are always welcome. This is quite the in-depth piece, really glad you enjoyed, thanks for stopping by:)

  7. Brian, glad you enjoyed the read. The piece is about a man, who awoke without any type of memory what so ever- could be tripping away, could be a mad blackout, but in any case he has no recollection what so ever. He gets a look at himself and finds he's covered in blood from head to foot. The incomplete memories are driving him insane with questions...

    Delves off into some other pathways from there.

    It started off by the thought of seeing yourself in the water/mirror and you're shocked at what you see. Thanks for the visit, I appreciate it:)

  8. Rose, thanks for stopping by. Really glad you enjoyed it and thanks so much for the kind words. Thanks again:)