A Light

A light—
floating
without force
or magicks,
translucent in
form
and raw
in purity.
It holds no power
nor strength
yet is desired
is craved
in ecstasy.
This light
is crystalized
into stone,
so clear
that it reflects
and reverts
darkness
into prisms
of disbelief
and painful awe.
The crystal,
sought with
the richest form
of Passion,
is stolen
by voracity itself.
It is dulled,
jaded with
tainted use,
unmerited passage.
The prisms
become paintings
seen by all,
appreciated by some,
fancied by few.
That crystal
now grimed
with familiarity
withers
dwindles
parches
and is left,
forgotten
in florescent.
The unnatural
glow,
formed by distortion’s
daughter,
powders
the omitted
lump.
Flecks of gray
and shimmer
silver
are swept
into air.
They flake
they float
and drift
caught
in endless repeat.
Looping
circling
rhythmically
falling
and rising.

And soon,
Passion
seeks another.
Purity
becomes hazy.
Awe becomes
disbelief,
and disbelief
becomes
an export.
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