The Immortal by Eric Nunnally

I have cut my aching soles
With the determination to satisfy my minds thirst for
A kiss of hope somewhere beyond my circumstance
Stubbed my sore and bleeding toes again and again
Slipping into the sharp crevices of jagged rocks
Discarded remnants of some great highway I
Must find my way back to
Sun bleached stones and boulder crumbs
The rubble and shavings of a drawing I had almost forgotten
(Having been seduced from the path of obedience
And that obedience – to a love purposed for
The promise of its own truth)
But for that noble essence of hard being
Beautiful even in its remains
Which assure me that
The way is real

Paused
And erected myself upon the diminutive peaks of
Dead boulders that would be mountains
And breathed in the open space above them
Plain to the sun and butt naked before the sky
With a bold humility that

Listened
To the wash of air blowing over me like a distracted lover
Carelessly preoccupied with ambitions for tomorrow
Adolescently rushing to get to the front of an illusion
Meant to be a resting place

Missing the sound of its own heartbeat
In a leaf’s smile
A flower’s scent
A butterfly breathing…

Watched the sky blue water dress itself in a billion diamonds
Laughter the trees can hear
The beauty of its happiness drawn to the surface
From the depths of its being
Spread out before me, underlining daytime’s heaven
Barely a hint
Of how big God is

And been struck by the well kept secret
Of a world of thoughts crowding my mind
In this remote and peaceful setting

I have considered that this rock upon which my feet stand
Has born the weight of other men
And that, on a day not unlike today,
They too have had their brooding moments
While seagulls have, like white kites, sailed upon currents of invisible tides
Reminding me to surrender
While crying above the waves

I have imagined a ladybug, lighting upon a man
Whose eyes, curious, follow its instinctive ascent to
The point of his shoulder, perhaps
Where it opens its wings and waits
For the air to catch it away

I have heard his thoughts
His wish that blood could be washed away so easily
Heard his sigh, watched him turn away from the serenity of the horizon
And be struck by the visible insult
Of a thousand faces waiting to be told
Where to die

Didn't he give the command to
Leave the scar of his will
Cut deep, a swathe of bent life, gouged earth
The weight of his arm falling in the warm air
Emphasizing the sounds spewed
From teeth, tongue and lips

Didn't he open his hot dry mouth and
Train his vision in the darker, more caustic recesses of his soul
Breathe lethal vapors, infecting the minds of feverish warriors
Fury and passion in his godlike voice
Impressing them with his single-mindedness
A necessary madness of war

Didn't his sweaty fingers lock themselves
Around the hilt of his terrible sword
Buried in the gasps of many sacred hearts
The cold fire in his eyes seen by the lost
Before withdrawing: the sound of steel against bone

Didn't he know this sweet, cool air
An early morning drink of water
The stretch of rising from bed
And the kiss of grass upon his toes

Didn’t he marvel at the stars
Listen to evening symphonies of crickets
Enjoy the warm glow of a candle
And try to remember his dreams

Didn't he enjoy satisfaction from his lover's lips
Speak the hushed words of intimate conversation
Meditate upon the beauty of a sunset
And consider his reflection in a pool of water

Didn't his mind charge his world, struggling with the hard choices
Didn't he feel the rocks beneath his feet, endure sleepless nights
Didn’t he think about God, and what God thought about him…
And didn't some love him, knowing him only as a father or friend
While others feared his office and integrity

The letters of his name
Are carved on a rock not unlike the one I stand on
And I have been told that the dash between the years of his birth and death
Is of some great significance
And shed a tear for my own mortality
Considering that his existence is only real
For those who remember

And, ignored, never was.


April 20, 2004
November 10, 2004