
Prelude to Truth
Ives Wittman
On the anguish of near despair
The landscape of poverty looms clear
In a biting rejection of what you sought
So dear
Only to discover the vanity
Of a delusional dream reality
Where threats ending in beginnings
Draw you into dark haunting affairs.
To know the memories of sorrow,
To know the missing of living
Crows cry blind for love.
Vexed by partial understanding
In a body of purity
Bubbling brooks calling
Mind in mind, bones to bones
Breathing through impurities releasing
In sensations of craving,
A sunrise dawning in the spirit’s deep cutting. The closeness embraces you,
A sweet violence surrendered
In dying forests
Of stillness arising on breaking branches where bellows of truth crack in echoes.
Alone you see the charnel grounds
Observing a dead body
Again and again
To smell the ripening leaves concede,
In red, orange and brown
They quietly bleed in the Yellow Sea.

