The Ember Crown

Ember,
Float.

For far below
the war torn World,
restless in its’ rages,
wore the cape of Ptolemy.
Thoughts so long circled the Sun
and crashed as comets kept in cages.

Just be.

Just as ice,
frost melts when Ostara warms her bed.
Become the tides,
ever changing and though wandering…

Listen.

Ember,
low
in the aether,
there’s a call. Here,
You are a part apart,
a response there waiting.
Atlantean waves crashing
down from above our Platonic heads.

Breathe.

Dichotomy,
You’re bound to burn bright.
Heavens above welcome you
with endless black laced open arms…

to fall
to the gravity of this
pale blue dot.

Ember,
crown.
Are you not
the spark at the end,
a way away from the maelstrom?
Or a match, gunshot, or torch?
Live then in holy union, already risen
from what’s destined to rust.

And if the setting Sun
would bend of break
your heart and your gaze,
rest your eyes
a Moon’s full run
from all that lies awake.
As all things must pass
Isis spreads her wings
and Horus sleeps inside
the gateway left open
awaiting your warm welcome
this day.