There is a light in the valley:
bodies gather from the horrible dark
and find a couple, many-feathered and bright
weaving a tapestry of song
into the dead reality of night.
There is a man at the door
in a mask with golden eyes:
better to burn the sacred gift
than to let him re-divine
the old and knotted matter of our lives.
And there is a word in the street
among the old and the blind:
they say you can find
(if you are ever so benign)
a single fabric untouched by the violence of time.
2 replies on “XII. Macchu Picchu”
I am truly in awe of the words in this poem; the imagery of a light in the valley and a tapestry of song weaving hope into the dead of night deeply resonates with me. The portrayal of protecting what is sacred from deceptive forces and the idea of finding timeless purity amidst chaos has profoundly touched my heart. It beautifully captures the struggle and the enduring search for meaning and resilience in our lives.
Thank you so much, Steven!!
However, I have one thing to add: the idea of timeless purity is a lie. But a lie for a reason. And not always a bad one.