Writing down the bones.
Writing down the bones.
Peeling off the skin.
Peeling off the skin.
Sweating out the poison.
Life,
the liquid in a
cast
iron
cauldron,
boils and pops,
seethes and spits,
separating gold from the
druse,
the gold from the druse,
and I am at the
bottom,
I feel the flames surround me.
The heat
overwhelms me!
So many spirits
rise forth
gracefully ascending;
A nebulous galaxy forms
in the darkness of the night.
I will not be frightened,
for I know my heart is golden.
The metalurgist’s gift
is the love
and the wisdom
ever poring forth
from The Ancient
of Days.
The Heat
it will transform me.
The Pain
it will teach me.
The Memories
will create me
till
at last
I
am
free.
}}}—->> Errol Anguish