The Poetry and Prose of John Omniadeo

The Poetry and Prose of John Omniadeo

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Diotima and My Teacher

Diotima, when I hear you talk I count my blessings by the desert stars
But it doesn’t keep everything from always disappearing.
How many things have made me weep that I cannot now remember?
How hard it is to say to you out loud that even this Love passes like a dream.

Who first sat down and looked into the mind? The gods fucking trembled.
I too am scared to see this solid world peeled off into sheets of nothingness
and your voice and beauty tempt me to call it real but I say instead:
It’s a fool’s game, my Love, this ride I take when I see your face.

Blood on snow is beautiful until I see I too will leak my warmth
into the frozen blank. This storytelling time will also bleed and die.
Enough! I paid my debt to society in the prison of concept. I’m free!
Diotima, I’ll tell you this: In all this world there is no one like my Teacher.

In the Zendo, Love, no doubt you’ll sit
and stoke the fire of awareness with the quiet bellows of your breath
but also come with me beneath the covers soon
and let me offer your sweet scent to my Secret Guru.

- John O.

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