The Set Of A Poem Poem by Joseph S. Josephides

I set, I stretch my hands open, out of the coffin,
I carry nothing and I need no law to judge me.
I’ll miss the wild joy as when I saw the tsunami,
caused by the volcano of Santorini, coming
to drain the river so that we pass it over.

I set, the divine Adamant cuts my chains,
so I leave the prison of words and I fly high up
to join the constellation of the eternal whisper,
to hear the dance in the amphitheatre of infinity.
I set, while you calculate what a pitcher can contain
ten stones, between them ten pebbles more, then
ten handfuls of sand, then ten handfuls of water;
say God adds an infinity of tens, cords of creation,
the space in cold expansion asks for the Upper
God with a hug contains it and warms it all over.

I smile with Socrates and Gioconda and go through
closed, invisible windows towards the New Creation,
to new bride Jerusalem, me being the Fourth Person
with radiant voice, I set and spread gold on your oars,
as a poem I’m not the boat but the brilliant voyage,
nor am I Jordan but the poetry water on the heads.

I set as a portrait that spoke, a thought that danced,
I set, ascending from the sea, to the land, then to air
to change the world, first having changed myself.




© JosephJosephides