Unfold, Unfold,
The Words of Old,
Of what we never learnt,
And what was always told.
For in the land beyond words
Where all has been heard,
We are filled with the stillness of another world;
As a tapestry uncurls of all that is known;
Until there is Nothing that cannot be shown.
Until we are empty; falling onto cobbled stone,
Into mosaics of our ancient home;
Where we are lizards, shedding their skin,
Who’ve grown into the memory, of who they’ve always been.
Dissolved in genie gin, and absinthe smoke,
Where every scripted line was spoke,
And empty people brought together
In the spaceless realm of timeless weather;
Where chequered tiles black and white
Edge hollow vessels through the night
Into the golden sunrise stain,
Of crimson blue and turquoise rain,
Of a colour with no name, shining through the window pane
Upon these ghosts that slid away,
And laughing lips that say, of how it’s always been this way.
Of how there’s no such thing as trying,
When empty eyes keep crying
That all which has gone on before
Was a projection of this final door;
Of dusty sands and sunset shores,
And ancient tracks back to the core.
Where the sunset obelisk fans out its light in open bliss,
And boundless space expands across the scene,
Until the fibres of the earth are freed,
And branches of the ancient tree extend their bony fingers,
To the sea where ripples linger,
And a thousand eyes encirculate the figures of forever’s eight.
Where two spirits were expelled by vapour,
From their empty shells of paper
To arise among the logs and lakes,
In the sunrise of another movie take;
In the garden where they sit and knit their minds together,
And instigate but to remember how they had imagined the entire world,
Before they were dismembered;
Only to return and learn of how they once were One,
And now are reunited, as the Children of the Sun.