Psyche concentrates, yogi-like and willy-nilly,
Following the flag of a flower pure and white like lily
Like greyhound or zombie, drawn inexorably forth
Reaching out as the lure recedes before her
Toward the light, to which Eros guides her;
But what kind of light is she destined to embrace—
Black, white, gray, or something different altogether?
And what does he want, to draw her forward like this?
Unknown, but we know that the banner, projected from her,
Is pure, eternal and uncorrupted.
© 2011 by Mark Andrew Holmes.