There are stories that are written down, carved in stone, others are told out loud or made for song, and some still linger--painted on walls of mountains, caves. Wallpaper tapestries, depictions of a good day's successful hunt. While the communal fires and bones have turn to dust, a good day stands still in that ****** snap shot.
From wars of old and origin tales, there are those narratives passed down as legacy, heritage of families, the wealth of lessons through time, reminders and warnings, and glories of victories against enemies faded away in defeat. How sometimes those tribal memories' recollection instill or motivate into action--change, or rites of passage (whether successfully or doomed) the undulation of life carries on, and finds a way.
Yet the stories that keep and hold our passions' interests, retold many times to quench our hearts, these are the ones more profound and rich of moral grounds, full of fertile meaning. Poetry of feelings spoken word of theater, out in the wide howling wilderness, while the wind becomes the wolf at the moon. We are moved by and by, as well as the soaring soul within. We learn to love those ancestral ghosts of yore, resurrected in the beat of drum, the pantomime of sons as their fathers, the rising embers and shadows running from the flames. Still, not all can carry the past or the details that fog ... while our rivers rush the seasons by.
In many languages and lives of every breathing passersby, there are also sparks of moments brief as an evening sky's meteor shower, rainfall of quicksilver streaks of light. Once and awhile there is awe and wonder, if witnessed by mindful eyes and held still in the same place where dreams awake in our sleep, has no need of script or reasons why, it is simple and beloved. The great and grandest of One story is gleaned, witnessed and recognized. The constellations brighten and seem to coalesce, the Universe opens its infinite arms, its vast lungs, and with one sigh within this witness, exhalations, in recognizing a connection with breath and firmament, the miracles of Life, cosmos & Light...
If only briefly like a flash of atmospheric fire from a meteorite in death-fall, the Infinite and Absolute now borne of proof -- without a word to convince or purchase. Words and like Texas Tea pollutes so heavily the kind and flight, thickly darkly removes what thine eyes doth and must see.
And as an avid lover of poetic justice & epics & heroes from mystic times, I keep close my heart's affection, since all love stories continue ever after to shine...
I see you
in all the dots and lines
diamonds and geometry
alive cosmic symmetry
I want to be
a speck of one letter in
your vast alphabet,
just to be exhaled
in the breadth of your true story
the shrapnel casualty or
pawn sacrificed for your glory
I want only you
to remember by...
And a No One like me
made alive even in death
in all your divine skies
full of Story...
Oh Goddess, my goddess,
what magnificence and wonder
are in mine eyes...
Then there are stories in silence and unrequited, replied inside:
Love begets like white lightning... Electric veins alive... Glowing tapestries of every life... Story...