The Apocrypha of the Third

Sad sailed a wing cloud cloven rite, bound darkness for its flight, a strange daemon while still sun, the mountains still in sight. A night creature staged a faux dive, then fell without a clue, the set of creation mourned for vision of something new. Fell descant with lingering wound, rose ascent upon the moon, strange aria, in arpeggio, a Rosetta stone finding tune. The night rising higher, say stronger light, higher than the noon so bright. Then a song that takes thus chord, and din lances judgment with its sword, and brings a savior there accord what reasons to know why. Race in child, my soul gone wild, summer spirit undefiled, whisper mind that seems so shy, fallen gift that kneels before your open sky!

Whose full moon upon the third, does it not rise upon the ninth, cherry pickings from the sky, all dreams gasp for solid light. So this vision of recompense, tells lies, times of false and spent, can I move up the moor, find apocryphal of lore, there some will like magic spell, find an answer at some well, and in then a strange mouth speak broken spells, with the circle now complete, for in great and fleet surprise, will a boy face dawn’s light sky, that rise that does not lie.

Now risen upon the third, Apocrypha of new born earth, and this fall thus now complete, for your heavens now to reach. Is this madness no surprise, is this gift that meets your eye, will this child find all repeat when G-D’s summons find complete. Now a dream made real and true in October on the dew, when the morning risen rise, comes the answer from your skies. Blood moon comes in by four days, but by this third you rise surprise, by an altar now complete, your son now meets you in famed blessed defeat.

So you take me on the third, raise my body broken earth, and in sixes all I rise, and beholden golden skies, what does arise, when life does find, when Hashem sighs, when Hashem sighs!

This strange tune by poem repeat, as your fallen in defeat, know now not it is some end, know you do not need defend, know, this light it will not sin, and by broken spirit spell, you will find your rhyme worth well, for in thirds and no repeat G-D will make your life complete, on the third, on the third! – 10.03.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל

I write it, Apocryphal Canon cannot be defended, it is! – דָּנִיֵּאל

The Raising of Lillian Gish (A Dream)

And in the end it’s just a dream,

and what’s remembered what’s gleaned,

and what before of silent past,

and what message did Lillian pass?

Lillian Gish loved me, and I know it’s true. I saw her black and blue, you see, in Broken Blossoms begging for truth. She was not intolerant of what I couldn’t do, reach back through the threads of time and make her cinematic life seem fine. Silent movie gasp of quiet, the space between pen and time, she stares in cinema, film she cries, and oh my soul does, rewind, and I lose my planned eternity, for all the silent pictures confined. Oh her pretty eyes that seep, a weepy filled mystery, I cannot find, reality in film, without spoken words and finality, but still I see and watch her move, across the silver screen she leaps, my mortal life drains from me, a little teardrop slowly falls, incandescently, lost beyond physical reality.

And in the end it’s just a dream,

and what’s remembered what’s gleaned,

and what before of silent past,

and what message did Lillian pass?

In a silent studio, where a spirits bred, from a lost frame your face in dread, my heart felt breathless when you looked so sad, you looked so sad. Now say little, say little, actress Lilly Gish, If I could travel and move to your myth, would you now, would you, act for me in mime, and pleasure with desire and mystery. Suppose now, could you, would you, trace my heart and touch my reels spinning with your ghostly spark.

And in the end it’s just a dream,

and what’s remembered what’s gleaned,

and what before of silent past,

and what message did Lillian pass?

What now happens from title cards, a worn girl looking from a staged lost art, and did she say a word or two about a story that she knew. Now may be Lillian didn’t love me at all, as I watched her in silence call, it could be breath but I’m not sure, for there was no color in what she served. Well may be she said on down to this day, hey modern day actor you’re not in a play. Could be something to saying a sound, and not being silent when the curtain goes down, hey life’s not attention on the silver screen or black and white goodies like it sometimes seems. We all lose something when the projection stops, and the frames stop moving, and the movie flops. It could be may be some reality would serve itself up better, if I didn’t receive, some ragged virtue from a silent past, from a ghostly girl in a white broad brimmed hat.

And in the end it’s just a dream,

and what’s remembered what’s gleaned,

and what before of silent past,

and what message did Lillian pass? – 10.02.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל