mecca

Time bleeds and eventually

We become the archaeologist’s dream

We become mecca

So few ever realizing

That we are the discoveries

Inherent of a rare planet

On this serious earth

We are the buried treasures

Born of stars and roving eyes

Of pleasures impregnable

Inconceivable to the ants

Massacred in droves

With each bare footed step

Upon the dew swept grass

We are the artifacts

Purposefully interred

In a cleverly disguised paradise

That we foolishly classify

Even lament

In our waning days

As a strangely personalized purgatory

A menagerie of arbitrary misery

A meandering doldrums

In which we defer

l’appel du vide

We bask in our insistence of injustice

Bitter with fading glory

The inevitability’s we carry like stones

As we wade into the torrents

Of an existential ocean

In our stubbornness

We are the antithesis

Of clarity or consequence

We are the stories written

In gravity’s house

In the blood and flesh

The words stirred

In honey and cum

Equal parts

Ruin and truth

We are the drunken epiphanies

Depicted in the hieroglyphs

The vibrant, pumiced dyes

Forming our eyes

Our pivoting hips

As we dance and cry

We are the relics

The arteries and republics

We are the cliffs

Risen and collapsed

As unprepared as we are apt

We are the devices

We are the machines

Miniature galaxies churning

With terrible, beautiful things

We are the atrocities

We are the greed

A humanity testament to it’s own

Insatiable unsustainablity

In the extinction of bees

And yet

We are mere echoes that dissipate

Across canyons made of hours

We drown horizons in the sound

Of our dreams

Our bodies flourish in the spoils

Of a seemingly perpetual youth

And we are glorious in our anima

Cursed with

Irresitability’s impermanence

Delirious with the misconception

Of invincibility

We swan dive into tide pools

As gorgeous and stupid as fawns

We pray for luck

And hope for rain

We are the remnants

Of churches and libraries

Stained glass and stanzas

Ribvaults and rotundas

Cherished foundations buried

With moments lived

We bequeath our former selves

Because we don’t have a choice

And it’s somehow never enough

It’s a gift

That we can’t keep

From a universe

That we can’t love

Because we can’t fathom

How vast it is

Or how to love something

That much

a. duncan, 2019

 l’appel du vide

 Literal translation “call of the void”

[Noun]

1. an intrusive thought or urge pertaining to self-destructive behaviour, that may occur during everyday activities. Example : the urge to swerve into oncoming traffic, step off the ledge of a cliff, etc.


 

featured image: 

– “Space Breeze” by Indg0 and excerpt from “Streamers” by Arthur Sze

video featured song:

– “Monotony of a Quiet Mind” by Ben Laver

 

Posted by

Amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus || Love is rich with both honey and venom

8 thoughts on “mecca

  1. I’m awestruck, April – how do you DO this so well??? 😀 😀 😀 It’s such a wonderful uplifting tribute to mankind – where the fallen angel meets the rising ape. You portray it so beautifully with such vivid imagery – we are the stories we leave behind, the memories we sprinkle for others. ❤ It's always such a pleasure hearing your vibrant poetry with such honeyed words – like slipping on a satin dressing gown or sinking into a bed of warm fluffy pillows. Loved this!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Between your and Rachels outrageously humbling and touching comments… I fear I may need a fan or a sedative. Oh Tom, thank you. I am smiling and dizzy and bashful reading this!

      It means so much to me that this resonated so strongly with you – a writer whom I hold in such high regard. I don’t have the words to thank you for compliments like these. I don’t. All I can say is I am honored and hug you like a warm, fuzzy vixen pillow!!! ❤

      Liked by 1 person

      1. It’s always such a pleasure and joy reading such wonderful poetry from you ❤ – truly brightens my week & I'm astonished you keep releasing such fresh brilliant content every time. You always have something profound to say & each soul-stirring piece really blossoms under your talented touch as it draws the reader in. Keep writing! 🦊 xo

        Liked by 1 person

  2. April, how do you do this, every time. You, are like an eternal fountain of creativity and beauty, capable of washing and cleansing us of the world and immersing us in your words.
    So many beautiful lines in here, I am simultaneously swept up in the insignificance and significance of life… how we are everything and nothing, and how we must use our power gently.

    “We swan dive into tide pools
    As gorgeous and stupid as fawns”

    Everything about this, is just…. beautiful xx

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Rachel…. I hadn’t realized until I read this comment… But everything and nothing, the insignificance and significance, are the framework… the marrow of this poem. It’s unspeakably wonderful to read your responses and realize something about the world that I myself created. Something I quietly buried, and forgot about as it began to rain. You and Tom have both … flattered me beyond reason and I can only say that I am clutching my little hands to my heart and holding back gigantic, giddy tears. Such a warmth to be heard, understood, and appreciated by writers of your caliber. Thank you is utterly insufficient but THANK YOU.

      This entire piece was written an hour before I fell asleep last night. The line “we are mecca” popped into my head first and I immediately thought about deserts and relics, archaeology, the pyramids in egypt, the legacies we leave our children. The rest just sort of ….. poured. xx

      Liked by 2 people

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