The Fool's Line

'The Fool is Precursor To The Savior' - Carl Jung

But that iron engine keeps on smoking,
there's a tight line between the Black and the White,
and I walk it still,
as torn feathers beneath a divine Eye.

I could tell you about the rain 
from my flesh 
and the heat 
that yielded
my heart to gain weight
but I'll think better of it, 
because the engine's eating up my time.

Without end in sight, 
of the moon's many faces, 
I set my eye upon the shadowed features,
I set my heartbeat firm upon the line
see how the median takes to my body's song,
in the skin is all the rhyme and rhythm,
see if it tops me to the dark or to the light.

When I set down my feet to the distance,
there was no weight upon my spine,
now I walk it heavy and walk it fine,
for someone else has wandered already
with weight along His line.

Full-blooded cords trickle through my ear 
and my feet don't grow weary,
my cupped hands behold 
the breadcrumbs along my hike,
the raining manna seasoning skins,
a sacrament drips through this rhyme,
I made it scarlet in time, I smoked its aroma fine,
all angel eyes watch this ball of mud 
tentatively
roll along the time.

Vagabond through the pages of my age,
by oozing wax moons I know what is written
can never truly be mine,
every now and then my sunshine hides,
so I flick with my thumbs 
new gold coins into the parallel skies,
keep the fellow wind as the bard by my side,
let great wisdom rattle through my mind, 
anoint me and my ivory shrine. 

On my long roam, my youth's echo will
clap back around my ears 
and I'll drink it down like wine,
if Divinity's surge wills to cut my line,
then the clouds will curl into bellying foam
and bellowing agate currents
will lash my destiny's stars into abyssal belts,
and I'll leap, long-souled, the keel of my skin
sweeping across the dark deep,
and full footed I will land,
to keep on roaming past the tide.

Well, if I ever reach the end 
of my long bloodline,
I'll put on new shoes 
and keep the walk,
follow the stony bowels of clouds, 
all the way to the lightning's sparky witness, 
where I will strike rocks with thundering palm,
and new lines will untangle into eternal roads again.

But that scarlet engine keeps on smoking,
there's a tight line between the Black and the White,
and I walk it whistling,
as beating hearts beneath a divine Eye.