Lorenzo Buford
I am the vine that men climb.
I carry the song that will spiral
The Wanderers, the lost, the Dead seeking redemption
from my womb that is chaotic
with dead things and through my Eye
I will return what was wept in the beginning.
I am the warrior who is announced by the thunder
and the S/he who destroys all within its path.
If I speak my breath would devastate all creation
around me, even the gods fear my gaze;
yet seek my embrace and pray to enter my mind womb.
I am the whore dancing in the market place.
I am the one who hairs snakes through creation
when anger, lust, envy, jealousy knocks at my heart.
I am the male mother, the heart of a planet.
I am the abandoned child weeping in the wilderness.
I am loved, yet, I am tormented by my lovers.
I am Death and I am its consort.
I carry my Beloved in my mind awaiting his birth
from the wound in my head.
I am the one who sings in the choir that binds creation
yet, I am the Song that walks as a uni-verse.
I am the holder of the Eye of Life;
yet, I am the fire that comes forth from the Eye
to heal, to love, to bring life, to bring death.
I am intoxicated on the wounds of the dying
and I drink the tears of children abused.
I am feared and the Dead weep for me
while the living tremble like children under a leaf
during the thunderstorm
and I sleep in many tombs
waiting to be remembered, waiting for my Beloved.
I am waiting…waiting…for the Eye to bring the Life.
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