2025-01-22
Pillar of Salt
A dedication to Tanaquil, King-maker of the Etruscans, prophet and slave of prophecy.
O Tanaquil, my long lost friend, may we encounter in nostalgia
Where the winter solis warm and the fallen snow soft
Where the starry nights’ clear and our footsteps clearer
For how ignorant we were, in the face of chaos itself
One blind to the Skies above
another to the Depths below
Drinking to the constellations, yet raise not the same toast
To one seeks possibility of the unknown
the other witnesses fatality in the patterns
O Tanaquil, let us not forget the circles we drew
in fluffy instances of white
in reckless reaches for virtue
in seamless resonance of ripples
in solemn rites of bliss
You once ask of my intentions
Where I answered in morality
Where I seek no comfort
But the comfort of your soul
Though often prone to blurry vision
I am the one who sees you
To know of your true color
To understand your being
And solely, by that very fact, I could
free you from the chains of reality
Snatch you from the shackles of prophecy
to which gods envy, and man puzzled
For it is the ultimate refuge
Where one can dance
Without a preordained script
Without a role to fit
Without a deity dictating your speech
Without a tribe governing your thoughts
Yet blasphemy is temporary
And judgement is to come
To which one day the narratives of rhetorics
would collapse on the void of truths
But I, for one, am willing to risk it
For that I can, then I must
For the chance that you would be free
A split second away from misery
But then the spark of inferno
By my own very hand
struck down on the haven
All brimstone and fire
Chilly mats melts to rotten branches
Choking fumes toasted my eyes
For then I lost my vision
I lost sight of you
For the first time I see my limits
And your long endurance collapsed
Agony of the soul
Incongruity of the mind
Wrath from the Heavens
Excommunication from the Church
Shrieks of betrayal
Vanity in Death
The spirit extinguished
The soul burnt on a cross
Yet the prophet remains
Speaking for the GREAT ORDER
…
I have long shut my mouth
For they will not understand
Even to you, the prophet
I cannot utter a word
Yet here I am
after all the seasons changed
To speak to your soul
Was it worth it?
Mark Li 
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