Writing Down the Bones

Writing down the bones.

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