Pale Stranger, Do you Know My History?

Tombstones and temples, plaques and pillars

Pale stranger, you call this history, my identity.

But fuzzy granite images of forgotten rivalries speak only in your tongue, 

My stories burned these sands of time into hoary stones

 

They sing to me of an undying, unbroken knowledge, 

of the serpentine course of infinity, that arrow-head of the first constellation

and those churning spokes in the wheels destiny 

Can you not hear these millennia preserved in metered verses of my worship? 

Under a finite firmament of mortal gods,

Can you not see a new creator for each era? 

In the poison consumed by my blue-throated one, 

can you not see the masculine shaping the feminine

As the duality of life holds onto dear death?

Tombstones and temples, plaques and pillars

Pale stranger, you call this history, my identity.

Peer into my very being and you will find

Written in the ancient script of the trinity

An ancient poem in every cell.