To Jacqui [On "The Storm"] (09/01/80:)
You, who with stroke of genius can reveal
That spangle of existence 'neath the veil
And tangle of confusion which enfold
The human understanding of the Well
Of Life through generations from of old,
Would you with lead and canvass yet unfold
The secret that you see beyond "The Storm"
So wretched mortals may with love behold
Both truth and beauty in more lucid form?
Or does it lie beyond the visual norm
Of revelation that needs genius show
Why love is in itself both calm and storm:
And Life but luster in its afterglow . . .
Too strong to waive, too flimsy to pursue?
Through corridors of wicked circumstance
With cross I wandered and stole a glance
Of your sublime creation, and, in me,
The blessings of that momentary chance
As moment of condensed eternity
Burst forth like movement in a symphony
Aspiring to the highest notes transcend
Before it consummates the melody . . .
Perflext the least of what the notes portend,
Not heeding the beginning nor the end,
To inspiration did my cross transform!
Oh! Bliss from pain! Need I yet comprehend:
What magic did your work of art perform,
What pow'r bestowed in your "The Storm"?
If contemplation can perforce impart
An answer: 'tis the artist not the art
Who fills my being, and with keen insight
Hope subtly kindles in my aching heart.
True, unbeknownst, yet capture me quite
Like force of dawn comes to displace the night;
A force which proves with power absolute
The wrongs to right, vanquish with mean and might
The fear which doubts myself to sin impute –
The fatal weakness that can bring to naught
The strength, which is the mind's heritage.
If from "The Storm" respite vainly sought,
Then love reduced to futile escapades
Till lost in pain of selfdestructive rage!
It is with thanks that I indulgence pray
Of you to take these words not with dismay;
Though ourselves strangers we both find
Each other, and forever we may be,
The fait accompli that you touched my mind
In ways unique and apprehensionblind
Ignites a flame of wild obsession bred
To brave the tide that fate and time entwined,
The flood to take on from the fountainhead
And not just drink of your canvassinlead;
Unworried on the wherefores, nor ask how
To paint a picture, you may deem proceed . . .
The Tide is you, the moment may be now!
This Storm in me is sin to disavow!
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