They said it could never happen-
This ocean I view you across
In which you may ascertain your own outline….
That distant shore I call myself – estranged now from what it once knew
and dared to call a possibility…
Rhetoric is the curtain call and a grand, traditional mantle it is-
Dark, thick, warm…. With very certain edges-
Excuses all original thought that may arouse a sense of uncertainty –
- lack of clarity….
And so it did
In the name of… nameless passion
For that which it is Not…
For how can one know oneself if not against the mirror
which It is Not?
Raiana Golden (2012 – all rights reserved)