tanzanite eyes

crystal turquoise eye so blue
evaporating smoke in chimney flue
dreams disguised as beloved dust
ashes coating blood like rust
forgotten echoes in the dawn
triumphant queen that kills the pawn
black and white as fire learns
the sacred text that sears and burns

silver teardrop on the pond
mold turned green like ancient frond
palm trees waving in the breeze
the anxious stifling of a sneeze
departed snowflakes that must melt
ebony eyelashes on golden pelt
the wink of an orb so velvet smooth
that it’s peculiar it won’t move

what work of god rests in the eye
that boasts immortal symmetry?
a fractured sphere of discontent
jealous, vain, yet to man lent
to perceive woes both just and kind
and pluck the fruit from orange rind
in this one jewel lives joy and rage
passion tormented, yet encaged

samson followed the forgotten scent
eve to her vision her arm bent
isaac could not see, but wept
when jacob to deception leapt
and was deceived by garments rent
though reuben knew well what they meant
how from this diamond-like device
can liquid fall, as in a trice?

ma bete! so belle did cry
as she did choose to heave a sigh
and trickling down her cheek did find
a tear turned diamond, as from a mine
glittering, its beauty clear
belle had turned a kind of seer
and knowing that the beast did die
made all haste to run and fly

the eye, a glorious creation
mourns god with this queer sensation
water falling from the lid
to reveal emotions hid
deep within the cauldron-state
that is man (when he is great)
or perhaps, when man is bad
to show that he can yet be sad

the tanzanites that are my eyes
have long quailed, yet been shy
but in the glory of the night
they regain a clearer sight
they see truly what they lost
appreciate the heavy cost
in the dark, my sight regained
i dance within the kiln of pain

abraham walked into a furnace
had no qualms, said ‘let them burn us;’
shadrach, meshach and abednego
chose as well to let life go
but were rescued by an angel
who pulled them out of ensuing danger
only haran had to die
the furnace tolerates no lie

who am i, that is my question
and what means this weighty lesson?
am I abram; shall I be saved-
or am I a lying knave?
is my acceptance of god conditional
based on the merely traditional?
shall my burns kill me, my god,
as you do not spare children the rod…

but lo! a tear! a tear was shed
my words you hear; they have been said
with a pure and willing heart
that under your blows does smart
in the kingdom of my mind
you shall my adherence find
and in the lamp that lights my soul
you perceive a burning coal

embers in me you awaken
despite all that you have taken
in my eyes you see me still
daring you to take at will
I have given- I shall give
until you drain me through a sieve,
and of no substance, wasted away
I’ll fall through the holes- to play

in other worlds, perhaps the tear
of grief so utter and so sheer
is turned into a kind of jewel
and as a god, you’re not so cruel
as to deny me the fragile gem
made of more than I truly am

in myself I find you, god
I bow to your immortal rod.