Listen to My Divine Reflection by Richard Charles Stevens (Broken Suite)
Listen to Broken by ORAX
Atop the jutted crag,—I sat
To oversee the suffered land
My hands were cracked like frigid ice
Rigid pines beneath me packed
So tightly I could scarcely see
The air between declared to breathe
Within them thick mists bared their teeth
Blew a kiss and glared at me
.
Perched high upon the precipice
Permissed each whisper sparingly
Daring me to leap from summit
Plummet down despairingly
Incredulous—such treachery necessitous to breed
Under veil of exodus—of tenuous beliefs
.
I glanced both far and wide—relied on yarn dyed from the forehand side
To where the coarse sand snatched the tides
In offhand bid to match their rise
My line of sight—no short hand sized
In cursive blur—deferred no prize
For blind faith fashioned enterprise
Bid hind sight to the fays
.
The ventured skies—my wide eyes glazed
Tween slender spires—In kind appraised
Brisk the frisk of tidal waves
Listless were their spiteful claims
Nowise kissed affright—for no blight slighted my behave
Through light and shade in braid of twine
Precisely—I became
.
My divine reflection
My divine reflection
My divine reflection
(Reflection)
(Reflection)
(Reflection)
(Reflection)
Reflection
.
To the mystic river famed
I swooped through loophole of disdain
Flew to husk of the terrain
Embraced the musk of earth reclaimed
My trusted eyes—retouched the plains
Teardrops gushed from ruptured veins
With upward gaze of daisy chains
To no grave slight inclined
Revivified—this terra firma firmed beneath my greaves
Once more adored the veins of leaves
Relieved each spore of ancient bind
.
(My divine reflection)
Relieved each spore of ancient bind
.
Atop the jutted crag—I sat
To praise the lay of fragrant land
My open palms—no grope of psalm conveyed
Through wild tirade—had claimed my place
Of forward faced intention
Delighting brave of my divine reflection
.
My divine reflection
My divine reflection
My divine reflection
(Reflection)
(Reflection)
(Reflection)
(Reflection)
Reflection
.
Atop the jutted crag—I sat
To praise the lay of fragrant land
My open palms—no grope of psalm conveyed
Through wild tirade—had claimed my place
Of forward faced intention
Delighting brave of my divine reflection
.
Richard Charles Stevens
Keeper of The Crimson Quill
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Oh my goodness!! This brought back harsh memories of me and my ex who together had driven down to Beachy Head and sat together in silent contemplation. Fortunately we ended up whipping each other’s legs with stinging nettles as opposed to a full speed faceplant on the craggy shoreline. Beautiful piece and artwork but funny how old memories resurface to be laid back to rest.
I adore that comment as that is precisely what I wish each time I write. For my words to bring back memories, often ones that we look at as negative, and hopefully enable us to rewire them and lay them back to rest. One reader the other day commented on Life Made Me A Lion and said it really got to her. The thing is, she was glad it did. Somehow, through art, we can tackle our demons together, reconsolidate memories we tuck away which may have directly influenced our wiring and take a step along the long road to recovery.
Thank you for sharing your Beachy Head memory with me here, in our safe place. Your comment has placed a bright sun in my sky this day.
What a chorus in this version and it’s fascinating reading the comment I initially wrote above, how I shared something so personal with you here. In my safe place.