The Burning Ground


I am the burning ground.

The ashes of the dead fly round my head.

The smell of charred flesh rides the wind like a raider in the night.

I wear a flaming corpse that twitches and spasms and bumps on down the wretched road.

And what a road it is, strewn with the wreckage of every evil choice and foul desire.

It stretches on before me like a dare, a mystery round every bend. The kiss of bliss or abject misery lay waiting like a trap, each more dangerous than the next.

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I'm not alone. I am a host of voices a hundred billion strong.

Stitched together by a thread of light and song.

Each cell within me is a world of its own.

Each with a heart that burns desire.

Drinking hot blood from the ocean of life.

Stoking the furnace of it's own unmaking.

Each pours it's heat into a witches brew of personal alchemy.

Fusing metals in the heart to distill pure essence.

Each voice casts its own spell upon the world. 

Singing, Calling, Crying, "I Am".

Birthing life's fruit with pain.

Etching faces onto monuments of flesh.

Each pours its smoke and refuse back into that sea.

Each breath a life, a taste, then death again.

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What can holding mean in such a world?

What grasping stops the crush of time that steals the fingers from your hand?

What knowing stops the loss of mind that comes from being undone?

The river of life and death roars past our door.

We drink and bathe and vent ourselves with wild abandon.

Yet, we cannot slow one drop that rushes to the great abyss.

And we as scattered drops can only watch the passing show.

The flickering of light upon the waters play.

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What hope exists in such a world?

We stand on sand that drains beneath our feet.

What purpose could lay hidden here?

What root runs deep beneath the skin that holds the key to life's uncertainty.

How can one voice alone sing true against the roar of chaos and ruin.

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There is a thread of light and song that weaves the world.

It is a roar of joy that hides within the chaos.

We are not alone. We are a host of voices a billion, billion strong.

And we may sing as One.

The flames of all our hearts may burn as offerings of Love.

And every light may shine against the darkness.

And every breath may coax the turning of the Galaxy.

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The nightmares come when we're alone, hiding in the darkness, hoarding with relentless greed.

There is no poverty so great as this, "To close the heart".

What flower unopened offers beauty to the world?

Yet if all grasping done, we turn our prison of flesh inside out.

Giving everything, even all our pain and bliss.

All that can remain is Love.

The culmination of a dream that we all share.

The waking from the slumber of death into the fullness of life.

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Open all your doors to me.

I am that light that shines within.

I am that song within your heart.

I am a sword of flame that points the way.

I am the lord of death and life.

I am the burning ground.


                                                                                    B.E