A note from the author: Porfiry Esteban Suayd isn't published yet. He isn't actually born yet, nor will he be for some centuries. He's the protagonist in the science fiction trilogy Dreamers of the Day.
Rage, replicant, on every border.
They span stellar space
And throb quantum-close in the
Harmonic neuron-flash of troubled human hearts.
The raptured virgin yearning
For deflorescence of body, spirit, world –
A yielding up of innocence
In desperate barter
For the meteoric flame.
Her burnished eyes shimmer
In the gleam of Maybe’s dream:
She, like every other, an inevitable casualty
Of some war she doesn’t yet suspect she’s even in.
A trumpet-blast of fervor
Calls the faithful to the proximate flames:
The rife and ceaseless conflagration
That flares and ebbs across all of space and time:
Where frightened oligarchs inflict the same chains
On the same populace
For the same self-serving delusion
That always always always ends
In the same fruitless carnage.
The same deflowered hope.
In that bright moment, though,
The torch-led partisans become
More than they have ever been
More than they will ever be again –
Exceed their very possibility
To burst the boundaries of the dream.
They, then, are the flame:
Radiant and consumed.
The virgin, strong among them,
Blends her voice in theirs
And consummates her blaze across the sky.
She sighs a wistful sigh.
Someone let slip a thoughtless word;
Someone’s eye strayed out of bounds;
Someone’s lover loved less than lover’s needs.
Young and ageless, fragile and invincible,
She steals a tender moment between battles stampeding
Down the corridors of her ruined world.
She gently dabs a tear, a drop of blood
From some brother’s eye, some sister’s wounded brow –
Then rises to rejoin the microscopic or macroscopic battle:
Replicant, if altered, in every room of this embattled house
What chance is there for her or such as her?
in this perdition of a cosmos.
She, like all of us, damned by our dreams,
To rage eternal slashing at the dark.
Porfiry Esteban Suayd