A poem from Italy, April 2024.
Eternity masquerades
the spaces where you are,
covering herself from you.
She hides her face
from your presumption,
from your brazenness.
She is easily frightened,
pure light,
unadulterated.
You are nonplussed.
Her canvas remains ready
for eye,
for ear.
Catch her beauty.
Memorialize her glory.
Wait for her;
Cherish her.
She is scattered before you,
waiting to be gathered
to a greatness -
to an ooze of oil -
to be interpreted,
to be painted,
to be esteemed.
Listen to her laugh;
leave your mark.
Listen to her whispers;
leave your brushstroke.
Enjoy her abundance;
dance wildly
dance carelessly.
Write your verse of poetry,
reflect your glimmer of hope.
As far as you can see,
create.
As far as you can hear,
rejoice.
Stare deeply into the fissure of your circumstance and fall on your face.
Reveal your secrets to us,
whispers only you have heard.
Shout it from the rooftops;
throw it upon the walls.
Gather it in your arms;
heave it into the wind.
Waste your breath;
cast it upon the shadows.
Reveal your piercing light.
Glory is hidden -
uncover it.
Canva fresca
