Calling to the Vidyadhara
I thought I missed you,
That I would have clung
if in your presence.
If that history had been gifted
I could have been bold
But I see
What I had been:
Private, slow grown,
Was slated for
The radiant editions
The aftermath, the ash.
Those who walked with you,
Some driven mad from your proof,
Still bomb concept
Like channels possessed by
Your shapes, fashioned and wielded.
You were pure:
Unclouded,
Fatal.
I've told myself secret stories,
Fattening pride,
Of what I comprehend.
But you still cut
With countless elemental arms
Strewn through phenomena
And I know nothing.
My head is at your feet
Heart and guts
Raw, unkempt.
Grant your blessings
That this smart-enough
Turns off the safety,
Drinks.