Paul E Sexton, Poetry


Mythic Journey

I stand tall
arms spread wide
supporting a never-ending sky,
the weight of the world
upon my shoulders.
My dripping life's blood
in stigmata martyrdom
an apparent atonement
for past indiscretion.

My nights, fragmented
nocturnal journeys through countries
Each morning a rebirth.
Every repose an underworld excursion
epitomized, then
to wake and stand again
under glaring sun.

Pulling back the layers
just beneath my surface
I am the esoteric principle
The everyman odyssey.

To be created.
To struggle.
To be uncreated.
This is the inner mystery.

Eternity beckons, already present
in the space between each moment.
Conditioned phenomena,
only as real as its perception.

One day, enraptured,
propelled by wax wings
of gossamer gnosis like
an illuminated snowflake
I will soar above
the painted sky,
beyond the heavy fetters
of the Earth.

A flame,
blown out at last.