4484. MR. ZOROASTER

MR. ZOROASTER

I commingle both blood and fury, juggling my cosmic

words with the lightness of fire and heat. I am the torch

that carries the flame  -  do you like me this way?

All across those fabulous ages I've remain steady; a

name used on occasion, a secret presence, a force

behind a force. And now, but only now, it is dawning

morning on some North American beach, a place I've

known nor even sought to see. My visions are larger

than broadcast, and I easily encompass this space.

A few boats are swaying in time to the ripples, as the

soft water runs on  -  sails and a schooner, some rich

man's yacht holding bay. A few folks are having their

breakfast at a table nearby  -  wharfside coffee and the

odor of eggs and big pastries. Things I've never seen.

-

I am wrapped in the robes of too long ago, my language

is stilted and broken, I cannot articulate the exactness

of what I need to say. On the arms of my cloak, stitched

in a velvet, are stars and shooting pinions of form and

elation  -  my body screams joy, my heart yells 'Duty!'

All that, and yet why am I here, I must ask?

-

Like the God would say to the writer  -  'I am here

because you placed me here, you silly, foolish one;

why do you ask, it's so obvious.' Thousands of years

of Mankind have thought that question should have gone

the other way  -  with the writer asking God instead  -

but, take it from me, I truly have the sequence right.