Daily Citadel: 12/25/2022 - 12/31/2022
12/25/2022
12/25/2022
Welcome to the Glass Citadel and Merry Christmas! This week will start with a new poem tomorrow, and each day afterwards will add onto it. Thank you for reading, and be sure to follow to stay up to date.
12/26/2022
Instagram/Twitter; Beginning, "Story of Silver & Love"
I bought an antique
that was made of
silver and love,
but it fell apart at
the touch of a glove.
I blew off the dust
from the rubble of
silver and love,
until it scattered so far
from here up above.
the dust
broke
like clouds
all full (afraid) of
rain:
that washes all
away…
And then the dancer came
like a ship in the night,
just dancin’ away
to some invisible game,
like hands set to pray.
The dust settled in
the heels of his shoes
and made him trip,
and made him bruise,
and made him flip.
12/27/2022
Instagram; "Story of Silver & Love (Pt. II)"
But the dancer’s shoes
just danced away, full of
silver and love;
the dust settling in
like a bird in a tree.
They went out to
the street, dancing
to pay the bills
of him broken by
silver and love.
Their routine was flawless:
First the right,
then the left
then in unison
to the most
elaborate tunes
without
ever
missing
a
beat.
Then the magic died
(as all magic does)
and the wind blew
away all the dust of
silver and love.
There was no
lament, no
obituary, no
eulogy, no
forgiveness.
Twitter; "Story of Silver & Love (Pt. II)"
But he would not lose;
oh no, not to
silver and love
as long as he danced
still undreamed of.
Break the style,
break the rhythm,
break the trial,
but do not break the schism.
All this he thought,
all this he sought,
while tripping over
what remains of
silver and love.
12/29/2022
Instagram; "Story of Silver & Love (Pt. III)"
There was only
a funeral nearly
unattended —
chairs all empty
except mine.
I’m not sure
what drew me there
on that quiet day
(magic always dies
on the quiet days).
It might have been
the stained glass window
hanging
proud
behind it all.
It depicted:
A priest, A solemn
in red & Three sheep fish,
in green & all shorn, eyes up
crying but not alone. to heaven’s
blue. closed doors.
Was there any trace of
silver?
Was there any trace of
love?
I still can’t answer that.
Twitter; "Story of Silver & Love (Pt. III)"
He followed the dust
that escaped from his shoes.
followed
through boulevards…
through fields
& factories…
past the shepherds…
past the straw bosses…
He followed the dust
until his great heart
began to whine & rust,
and then broke apart
to speak to the dust
of silver and love.
His heart bled red,
and the dust bled gold,
and their blood spread
until it burned cold.
12/30/2022
Instagram; "Story of Silver & Love (Pt. IV)"
But what I can say is that
there was a dancer,
dancing away to the
songs in his mind.
The shoes were
long gone,
the dust of
silver and love
long gone, too,
and still the dance
continued;
a miracle observable to
no one.
But miracles don’t have to be seen
to be believed.
Twitter; "Story of Silver & Love (Pt. IV)"
The dust and the blood,
the silver and love,
both cried to its other
and wept colored tears.
Here they then sang
themselves astray,
and called now to the dancer
as when we call to pray.
Perhaps the music failed
to move him.
Perhaps the dancer failed
to listen.
Perhaps their song cried
too quiet.
He did not move,
he did not step;
the dancer did not
breathe a single breath.
12/31/2022
Instagram; "Story of Silver & Love (V)"
Like the antique
of silver and love
that fell apart at
just the touch of
a glove, the miracle
began when its
porcelain frame
withered to dust;
dust which flew…
dust which blew…
dust whose blue…
& silver
& love (&)
touched
the dancer,
reached into
his heart and
said:
“though the magic will die,
you never will have to cry,
for the magic will return,
and will not go easy to its urn.”
As for me,
I have taken an
apprenticeship
to a billowy old
cobbler, whose
white-gold pipe
is always alight;
perhaps simple
honesty will do
me some good.
Twitter; "Story of Silver & Love (V)"
But in the silence,
everything felt
complete.
The blood then
coalesced,
congealed,
conformed,
left.
Though we are now
of silver & love bereft,
we are not of
hope nor praise:
we will live to see
another great day.