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    Boris Chen


    In darkness of soul the clock ticks

    for not the hour, a woman now picks

    A gem of brilliant countanance and grace

    That bathes her bare body and pure face.

    That gem, of all gems, slowly grows bigger

    Flooding the room of darkness and lost figure

    A hand arises out of the crystaline surface

    To warm and caress her heart with purpose.

    An ideal in life, she has finally found,

    Direction, fulfillment, hope and joy.

    Yet, before you are made merry, let me expose this ploy.

    For what she found was not a comfort at all,

    For in time the light blinded and caused her fall.

    She cursed the gem, and bit the hand of Saul,

    And strangely, though, the hand was not hard.

    The icy hand, was a serpent underneath --

    Deception, crime -- masquerading bard

    That pierced in violence with razor teeth.

    She gripped the large stone, and hurled it down

    Writhing in the pain from loosing this clown

    That had bored its teeth in reptillian manner

    And caused her grief under deception's banner.

    A hand from the clouds then appeared

    Out reached and open it beckond her touch.

    With hesitation and caution she approached with face teared,

    Remembering her mistake of wanting too much.

    A voice spoke, sounding like flowing water.

    She drank the words, the logic, the logos.

    And learned she did, with awe and laughter

    The depth of Truth that filled the cosmos.

    A robe was given her that flowed over her cool skin;

    Heavenly white linen covering divine form.

    Enraptured in warmth, caressed by beauty's lifted chin

    She tasted, found it to be good, now no longer forlorn.

    Lifted high into eternity she flew with her companion

    In his embrace she felt free and strong

    Singing with the power of an angel a new song.

    This poem is one of many published by the EServer, a nonprofit collective.