Beauty unleashed, like a massive foam pearl necklace breaking apart,
Cold, aerial oceans, unable to cling to rugged shores,
Lust’s avalanche groaned, then thundered in seismic currents.
White continents, sewn together by innumerable miniscule pieces in
Lost covenant, pushing their mounting, pent up desire against soft underpinnings,
Dropped into an unbridled free fall. Frantic, yellow-suited skiers and
Slack-jawed loggers watched as the purple mountain catastrophe hurtled past,
Bulldozed its way through the token resistance of spiky pines,
Gestured an irritable dismissal to trapper’s outposts and concrete works,
Oblivious to all that would impede its course to the abyss,
A killing cloud of total whiteout.
And the spiky pines, buttressed by jutting crags raised their well-intentioned protests,
Their scrawny appendages shaking fingers at the uncontrollable lust
Their warnings not rewarded by the slightest pause.
So, hideous elongated gouges rake the landscapes of the heart, personalities
Permanently insulted by the ravages of emotional brute force.
When lust conceives, it births offspring called sin.
Something…a creature…a foul beast, unmanageable, manifesting itself in a separate life, springs up
Without boundaries, lacking mitigating grace, unresponsive to reason.
“I want.” Nothing else matters. Empowered by the law of accumulation and triggered by a snapping
Twig or a melting drift, crazed Amnon bursts into Tamar’s room.
And when he is finished with his unspeakable crime, Absolom appears, hunting down his brother.
When “I want” speaks, nurtured childhood innocence dies. The vivid photographs that tell
Glowing stories of Samantha’s, Agawa Canyons and Magic Kingdoms , fade and peel.
Lust’s avalanche shreds the covenanted linkages that bind the sacred pieces together;
Lost in a stupid reverie, flat-lined into mindless destruction. It is so soft. It is so beautiful. It is so cold.
The thundering breakaway overtakes the earthbound—-the loggers, trappers and skiers,
Spinning helplessly out of control, shut off from every passage to freedom,
Taking refuge in the beckoning rocks, teased by cruel hopelessness with glimpses of hope.
Laws rule; law of gravity, law of inertia, law of the flesh, all irrevocable, except…
Above the whitened din, like gulls over the aerial ocean’s whitecaps, only the winged-blest escape.
Never able to stop the murderous rush, they admit their frailty and soar on top.
Strength renewed, they mount up with wings of eagles.