Truth

Part Nine: Truths Best Forgotten

A 100-word chapter of a 1,000 word story. Part one here.

*****

He wondered at her stunned and pale face when she returned from the healer’s.

“Pregnant?” he guessed, knowing she didn’t wish to be.

“Not more life; less,” she whispered. “I’m dying, love.”

His heart grew suddenly cold, though he kept his face smooth. “Isn’t everyone?”

“In weeks, love.”

It wasn’t fair. She was yet young. If she were to die, it ought to be on adventure’s height, not from withering sickness.

“Let’s have weeks of adventure, then,” he spoke gaily, trying to shake off despair’s sticky fingers. “And no more talk of death, dearest. There are some truths best forgotten.”

*****

To be continued.

Aye, Have I Seen the Whole

Here’s something I wrote in June last year–apparently. A few lines tickle at my memory, but I otherwise have no recollection of writing it.

 

Climb the mountains, cross the plains,
Mine the deeps and lose the gains,
Run the races, win the crowns,
Meet the woods and glens and towns.

See the world and know the world,
Man and devil, self and God,
Bright truth bitter, bright truth sweet,
Smite as lightning through a rod.

Climb the mountains, cross the plains,
Mine the deeps and lose the gains,
Run the races, win the crowns,
Stop and search for fitting nouns.

Draped in rags of purple silk,
Pearls build behind your lips,
Tell the blind man in the rain
How the color blurs and drips.

Climb the mountains, cross the plains,
Mine the deeps and lose the gains,
Pluck the flower and wonder how
To speak the words that mean the now.

“I don’t know all, and aye, sir,
But aye do I know enough,
To love a world so hateful,
To savor a meat so tough.”

Climb the mountains, cross the plains,
Sip the nectar of your pains,
Pluck the flower and wonder how
To speak the words that mean the now.

From the clouds, a patchwork spreads,
Deep in the earth the gems grow,
Leagues ‘neath water’s pressing dark
Do hopeless dangling baits glow.

Climb the meanings, cross the wiles,
Find the joy in trails of trials,
Pluck the flower and wonder how
To speak the words that mean the now.

“I’ve seen the world, not all, sir,
But aye have I seen the whole,
I don’t have every answer,
But I feel the guiding pole.”

Climb the meanings, cross the wiles,
Find the joy in trails of trials,
Pluck the flower and wonder how
These petal-truths can words allow.

But the blind man in the rain
Is only covering up his eyes.
The sky weeps pearls upon him
But he believes his weeping lies.

Climb the meanings, cross the wiles,
Find the joy in trails of trials,
Pearls formed in wordless grace,
Rich and silent, make no trace.

“Faith and hope and joy and peace,
Fearless love so rich and fair,
These the treasures I have found,
Without measure I would share.”

Climb the meanings, cross the wiles,
Search for tales that tell the miles,
For pearls formed in wordless grace,
Rich and silent, make no trace.

In despair the blind man weeps
While you search to find the story
That will turn the light to sound
That will justice do its glory.

Tongue of silver, honeyed lips,
Storyteller’s heart—all slips.
Pearls formed in wordless grace,
Rich and silent, make no trace.

Seeking words to tell the whole
Of a world loved and mourned,
To a world blind and weeping,
To a world rich-adorned.

Tongue of silver, honeyed lips,
Storyteller’s heart—all slips.
Pearls formed in wordless grace
Roll like tears down silent face.

“I have riches! You have wealth!
Hear my colors, please desire
Now to open wide your eyes,
See the light of truth’s bright fire!”

Tongue of silver, honeyed lips,
Storyteller’s heart—all slips,
When a stolid blindness black
Lets no word the darkness crack.

And the blind man in the rain
Says he can’t see what you speak,
Weeps and blames the falling pearls,
Won’t remove his hands and peek.

Tongue of silver, honeyed lips,
Good for naught but golden quips.
Unseen by stolid blindness black
That lets no word the darkness crack.

Lift your hands and lift your words,
Cry for brutal truth to strike,
Hands and scales to fall from eyes,
And beauty flood the broken dike!

And lightning finally strikes the rod!
Your tongue pours forth the words of God!
A light in stolid blindness black!
A Word at last the darkness cracks!

A Skimping Shell

A single truth,

A truth entire, that words all fail to tell,

A single word,

To truth attached, as paltry, skimping shell.

That single word,

A single word no image can contain,

One single whole,

A thousand pictures try to hold in vain.

A single truth,

A single truth, ill-wrapped inside a name,

And all attempts

To speak or write or show it seem to shame

The truth entire.

You can find slightly more specific poetry here.