Seeing Clearly

Prophecy beneath a dying moon

Hangs in the sky like a smoldering coal 

You've slept and dreamt in Enochian tongues

And risen to see clearly 

Never dreamt of looking away

resolute, rigid and standing your ground

daylight that blinds and gives way as it fades

over hallowed dirt and the bushes ablaze 

Gone now the haze that shrouded your path

vanquished the ghosts that swirled in the darkness 

You focus your gaze on the endless, the vast

The tomes of the scholars lie open

You won't hold back the blanket of shadow

that falls like the finest of charcoal ashes

but bathe in the breeze, the mysteries whispered 

only disturbed by the brake light flashes

Eyes that betray the indomitable soul

Lamps remain lit and wicks remain trimmed

You've been to the depths of the caverns below

                                                         And risen to see clearly

                                                          Tony Lollio 2018

A Raven story for my love

 You do love your symbology, and the Ravens do always speak to you in a language no one else understands, so let me tell you a raven story from the native people of the Pacific Northwest.

There was once an old man with a particularly ugly daughter. The old man went out to fetch water in the days when the world was completely devoid of light, and darkness consumed the universe. You see, the old man was so afraid of the world seeing his daughter, that he fashioned a box to capture the light. Inside he crafted another box, and inside it yet another, on and on until the very last, and smallest box, contained the very spark of light that lit the universe.

As the old man walked along, a tiny needle from a mighty pine dropped into the water he was carrying, and he took it to his ugly daughter and offered her a drink. She drank down the water, and with it the tiny needle, which was no ordinary needle at all. For Raven, the trickster, had disguised himself, and now began to grow inside of her.

The old man's ugly daughter gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, and the old man grew to love and embrace his grandson. In fact, he loved his grandson so much, that he gave the child anything he asked for. And so every day the boy would ask his grandfather to open just one of those boxes, and every day the old man would agree. Every day a box, until one day they reached the last, smallest box.

Just as the old man opened the last box, the boy revealed his true self, and Raven, the trickster, snatched the spark that lit the universe.  As he flew away with his prize, light was released into the world.  

So once again you and I, my love, look at the raven through another perspective. Once again we find relevance in its many symbolisms. There is a duality in Raven, the trickster who brought light into the world. I was selfish and deceitful, and you brought light everywhere you went. I became a better man when I was with you, and together we became a force of creation.

The light that you bring into the world sustains me, and our souls will fly together forever. Consider the Ravens......    

One magical night

Was it a good concert? I don't know, I don't really remember it that well. The important thing was that I was hanging out with her. I had never really liked Ann Arbor before I met her. Whenever we were together, though, the city seemed to come to life; less strange and quirky, and more vibrant and welcoming. I didn't feel different and out of place anymore, she had that effect on me.

 There was a milk crate full of old vinyl records sitting on the sidewalk. We stopped and dug through the entire collection, even though I'd never heard of any of the artists, and neither of us had a record player. Everywhere we walked was an adventure, and everything we found was treasure. Whatever plans we made were always an excuse to hit the streets. It was the walk that was magic. The concerts, museums, and restaurants may all fade from my memory; but I'll always remember the walks, the streets of Plymouth and Petoskey, Traverse City and Charleston, Detroit and....Ann Arbor.

 The sky was heavy and gray as we turned down Francis St. She never seemed to mind the rain. I, on the other hand, had pride in my ability to always find shelter at the last possible moment before the downpour. I couldn't forget, however, the day at the coffee shop when she walked right out into the storm. She left me standing there, cowering under the awning. I decided two things that day under the coffee shop awning; this girl was something very special, and I wasn't going to let her walk off alone in the rain ever again.

 The drizzle got steadier and heavier as we walked along Francis, until it seemed as though we were the only two people left on the street. The sound of the blues drifted toward us from a tiny alcove, where an immaculately dressed black man sat on a stool with an acoustic guitar. With no regard for the pouring rain, he sat licking the blues to no one, like he had been waiting for us. Our own private show! Suddenly, the concert we had just seen was forgotten, and we were dancing in the rain to the blues.

 To this day, I don't remember much about that concert. When I close my eyes, however, I can still see that man's gray suit and fedora. I can still hear the Memphis style of blues from his guitar. I can still feel my wet pant leg against my calves as we stomped in the puddles.