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The Earle of Bay and the new day
After the Earle of Bay had lowered his sail, he was then piloted through the veil.
Everywhere, in the highways and roads and shops and bars and towns
and villages and on the air and across the seas many spoke of his renown.
They highlighted his exploits in the game, many repeating his name but….
now nothing was the same of whatever remained.
Things that once seemed important no longer felt relevant.
The tropical sunlight was not as strong.
The day somehow seemed less long and silent and dragging.
The night somewhere along, lost its dint.
The food was now less zesty, less desired.
The warriors were silent, noticing his absent walk across the battlefield.
Somehow, it seemed the Black birds, Doves, Sparrows were not singing as chirpy.
Pain was everyone’s constant companion and sometimes friend, as they still looked for that community father figure and missed the guiding rigueur.
We were there in the departure lounge when the angelic flight alighted.
They stood close around our little group, but time was yet pre-flight.
The heavenly takeoff would be soon, just a bit post noon.
I wondered whether there were other matters or traffic,
between Earth and the Moon, like celestial highway topographic.
Fascinatingly, from the cosmic pool of consciousness one song played and played
and played morning, noon, evening and night and dawn.
The invisible DJ just looped and looped and looped something about making it through some kind of emotional rain or was it pain, that was falling? But who was playing or was it on auto-play, in the cosmic data cloud? Remember, the gleam of consciousness survives the body, and free of that shroud, continues to stream.
No one could say, as the music continued to play, and tears on their cheeks strayed. Rarer still, only one person on this side could hear this particular play.
There were some who spoke of seeing and hearing him afterwards, but how could I question what they saw or heard or what could I say?
Even, a resplendently hued rooster and his entourage continued their customary visits and afternoon activities about the grounds. There was a certain sense of weighted missing in the clucking and crowing and expectant pecking around.
This, many days continued, the looking around, but then faded these sounds.
The cherry tree quietly carpeted with beautiful blossoms the ground.
Some said they had never seen it drop so many pound for pound.
Even a phantom memory budded shoots,
of a long-gone Coconut tree that left no physical roots.
Paradoxically, the Palm tree, whose head was nearest to heaven, seemed to have some kind of a covering of dusty dew and, the Croton retained its brilliant hues.
The tree next to this Palm was showing promise of budding limes,
while at their feet, the Aloes were looking close to prime.
I imagined on the other side of the veil was highly festive, welcoming, and cheerful, embracing the return of the Earle of Bay in full, some joyfully tearful.
There he would be given a new name, already forgiven of all blame.
Any earthly aroma dissipating, as he took his place of rest in the divine frame.
Some found themselves sadly gleeful while others’ hearts were wildly tame.
While some focused-on fame, others knew it was your works that would be tested by the flames.
Thus, was the divine balance scaled, the weight of all the tears on both sides of the veil, some sad and some joyful, on the continuum trail.
After 82 tours of duty in the dark world he had at last, of spiritual fruit himself availed.
No more tears would he ever have to bewail.
He had seen that the true rewards of life are the spiritual fruit,
from which was fashioned your new shining supernatural suit.
No earthly booty could you take with you at the end of your tour of duty.
You see, the heavenly robes of light were your only access right.
It is not by pity, class, money nor might.
Only the reckoned righteous, clothed in holy light, are granted entry to the city bright. There now to see, in the one hundred percent light.
While on this side, we had drifted the inner sea for far too long,
pain piloting our vessel to when we disembarked, on a new day with new song.
It was the season of the Pomegranate and Passion fruit and the birds sang along,
as everyone climbed, rung by rung, rung by rung, on each note sung.
Then a trickle of laughter that bubbled to a brook after, from floor to rafters.
CI-486134605 Knight Truelove Poems