An attempt at a poem for Dionysos. The violence, metaphorical, expresses my situation in life at the present (and let it be sealed) and is not meant as a generality, not being common currency.
For Dionysos: The God Who Comes
I wait alone for torrents of summer rains
Like a pacing tigress in a concrete zoo
Like a crow hung caged to mock speech for laughs
Like an elder in a wide lawn, only ornamental, unbelonging
How attain the forest I germinated for, that unknown place of my power?
How shall I taste my prey, never having smelled the jungle?
When will the lightning crack, the hot rains roar down?
When will the God’s rains come, granting freedom that is quite impossible, and
Where is the One, the only One, who could open the door?
He will come bellowing like a bull burst from the pasture
He will come in smoke of incense, as the demon in the triangle
He will come so slowly, as a strangler vine kills its tree
He will come unnoted, as patient roots crumble sidewalks and walls
He will come in violence, the unnameable blitzkrieg, in detonations and gunfire
He will come with freedom’s last telicity, as at Hiroshima … Nagasaki
Though He bring death and despoliation and viciousness
I will shed no tears, in my joy screaming
—Rachel Izabella, 18 March 2013