“Old Man’s Head,” Jan Metejko, WikiArt.

Part 2: Theia-Forià, Divine-Fire

Middle realm, place amongst radiant clouds,
Traversing breadths of starry heights to earth-
Affixed columned portal, watching window,
By single deific nod, fates revealed, gods
Discerning all thoughts, words of brazen
Mortal men. Yet, more pilgrims approached,
Sandaled feet, tatter-torn tunic, face, eyes
Hood-concealed, mark-measured life not
His own. Lo! I knew him not, but his heart
Shown, papyrus verses, scripture gleaned.
This day, elder prophet, heaven’s messenger
Bowing before me, forehead stones touching,
Prostrate at my bare feet.

“What brings you here, holy father?” stated
I, raising him to standing. O! Sea-weathered
Face, radiant eyes, sorrowed sadness dwelling
Within. “My dream is gone,” he responded,
Pained honesty, decades of faithful following,
Soul searching to no avail. “This is not me,
But another, broken man,” said he, sight fixed
Upon distant horizons, despair-flowing tears
Streamed from hair and beard. Both his hands
I grasped, mother’s compassion, “Your name my
son?” “Tetheros.” Shook my head, disagreement,
Etruscan name adopted. Ancient tongue he
Spoke, “Theia-Forià, Divine Fire, I was called.”

Alas! He was once as me, visitor transformed by
Portal-columned voices, divine wanderer, healer,
Prophet, unceasing wind, years grieving poverty
Existing, his paradise lost, forsaken. Quaking
Breast, waters from eyes flowing, as we embraced,
Mirror of the other, I realized all he was, and now
Mortal reduced. He was alone no more. Eyes, arms
Skies reaching, deep breaths I inhaled, deific fire
Lungs exploding, his face I hard-clutched, “By
Ancient Ones, Theia-Forià, your fire rekindled,”
Circling skies, my mouth upon his, my breath
Into waxen frame, divine solar rays, inspiration,
exhalation, incandescent he became.

“Dusk Wings,” Thomas Moran, 1860, WikiArt.

Yet, upon this mountain peak, Fountainhead
Divine spoke to him, to us, tree-felling winds,
Ground trembling, summoned Theia-Forià, into
Cloud he arose, all doubt, shadow expelled.
Returned to temple steps, glorious light from
Eyes beamed. “I am restored,” he announced,
Dozen ancient tongues, “Another place, time,
I sail, first morning light.” And, so before me,
Dawning moment, golden chariot, fiery steeds
Took to liquefied air. But to where? Cyprus?
City of Marion? Trusted adviser to kings,
Temple priest, scripture written, clay tablets,
Awaiting to be unearthed tell the tale.

This Cosimia poem will conclude with Part 3. More Pink Floyd coupled
with new medications, synergistic effects. Thanks for reading.   

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