Saturday morning freshness and the tree
Were in silent bright communion, sometimes met
My friend and my father and me.
We just had breakfast, we were Adams who'd see.
Wet grass held universes and wings,
And we'd make our way to the oak, and climb.
The wind had grown subtle fruit, shedding time.
The moist bark, rugged bough, creaking floor,
The bicycle having its pebbled ways,
And the slanted fences quietness wore
All met mystic in the tree house those days.
One tree house, one father, and that one friend!
The tree house had a broken plank; bugs crawled.
My father's cruelties had me angry, appalled,
Scarred, and the other hurt me in the end.
But each stands alone: I don't measure,
Compare, else I would destroy the treasure.
There may be better, whatever better be,
And that may amply feed the intellect,
But love and imperfections intersect.
Looking at this blank paper, I know this poem is mad.
Stop socializing so I can walk down the hall exposed.
I hate everywhere I’m at,
With everything I have and I’m not.
I was always the one to stand up and wonder aloud,
Run with a high-pitched laugh even.
Back with stable bridges,
Now to crying mirrors.
A month away from that sneaking revelation.
I feel bad for my body. It didn’t choose me.
It didn’t know what I’d become.
Now it has to sit here and accept my cruelties;
I clutch my body as she shivers.
It’s not everyday you wake up to
Pounce upon - we won't say.
I’m starting to think the opposite,
For rain never leaves the desert completely.
The children with dirt all on their sleeves
Are rolling contraptions of crushed up leaves
"Didn't you hear, he passed out again?"
Said they wanted to grow like dad and mom,
Now they can't walk they're so far gone
"Haven't even turned 18 yet"
And war was but a game kids would play
Now it burns inside him each awful day
"He said he didn't want to wake up anymore"
We all giggled the time they nearly kissed
But we stare in silence at lines on her wrist
"She gave him everything"
One is in cuffs, one's on the brink,
One took too many over the sink
"What happened to the kids we used to be?"
2020, in the Chinese Year of the Rat,
books are burned, Kindles are melted
to limo in the overstretched era of
Gresham’s Law rules with an iron fist:
golden intellect has been debased
by the meretricious flash of 3D coinage
available, for a limited time only,
on the Drone Shopping Network.
Gargantuan art and photography books
grace the blue crystal coffee tables of society
glued in position by despotic interior designers
and spot lit in pomegranate xenon (the new black).
The finest salons are tenanted by a murder of
celebrities, entourages, paparazzi,
rappers, thugs, rapper-thug-CEO’s,
aesthetes, hangers-on, sycophants,
doggerel poets, wannabe artists,
and dictators, diminutive in everything
but their egos and lust for free drinks.
Egypt and Rome are resurrected:
Wait...haven’t we seen this before…
possibly, in one of those charred history books
used to toast the marshmallows?
Nah, it wasn’t there.
Wait. I remember! It was in the
Hitler: Mein Kampf and Mein Dreidl,
available, for a limited time only,
on the Drone Shopping Network.
I am constantly reminded of that popular Bible verse in I Corinthians 13: And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love. It is a verse that I highly cling to in faith and hope, something that I truly love to hear and ponder upon. Otherwise, I could easily give in to despair and cynicism, as it is prevalent in this world like a cancer. A good combination of a good dose of faith, hope and love is surely the medicinal treatment required for the cure.
Whether you adhere to this Biblical statement and belief, or absolutely do not, anyone can understand that we need faith, hope, and love to rely on. No matter what our walk is in life, whether we are Christians or of another religion—or have no belief in God or the spiritual life whatsoever—we all must have faith, hope, and love. Must!
Our very lives, and the world, depend on it.
The religious aspect aside, who can exist without these three, without faith hope and love? Take the sun, for example. Even the staunchest atheist has faith that, without fail, the sun will reappear on the horizon, each and every morning, dispelling the darkness of night as the earth revolves around the sun. It’s like an undeclared promise, a brilliant, seemingly miraculous occurrence that should never cease to fill us with awe.
Until we take hold of these thoughts, how soon we do forget.
Can you imagine if you woke up tomorrow and you never saw the sun again? Never? What would it be like if there was nothing but bleak darkness as we looked up into the sky for its beautiful blue canvas and infinite greatness? Our meager light bulbs and man-made lamps would pale in comparison to the blotted out light—the desert in the sky. Life would cease to be, and the thought of it seems almost incomprehensible—the utter void, the earth’s destruction, the deathliness, the icy cold and chaos. How we often take such things for granted! And the life-sustaining sun is only one of the countless things that we often take for granted as we dwell upon this magnificent earth. One may use his or her own analogy to compare.
Along with faith to spur it on, who can survive without hope? Hope reminds you it is still there when you cannot envision it there or feel its presence. It offers fresh, new pathways when your hopes have been dashed, and urges you to move on from false hopes that are imposters to the real deal.
I certainly cannot live without hope, nor could another living soul. Having no hope at all feels like a living death, one I know of firsthand much too well. Inside of me—in my own being—when it seemed that the sun in my soul, with all its nurturing and guiding light, had entirely disappeared from within me—I experienced that vastly void, and dark, bottomless pit. In complete horror and pain, I felt my life would always be this way. I liken it to having your lungs being ripped away from you, the wind sucked out of your spirit.
Oh, it is a dooming, crushing thing to have no hope!
But the thought of having not a shred of hope was something that I just could not bear nor accept. Thank God, it was an illusion, not really gone for good. It is the very fuel to propel rockets of dreams and goals, and it works hand in hand with faith and love. I believe wholeheartedly that hope is there for anyone’s access, no matter how low life seems. For like that eternal sun in the sky—sometimes seemingly doused out by menacing clouds—a temporary mirage, no doubt—hope is an invincible, precious and extraordinary gift, one that outshines despair by a thousandfold.
Imagine if there was no love. Many of us think love is an illusion, a dirty trick to avoid. People often were supposed to love us, but failed. Surely, we can often fool ourselves into thinking something is love, when later we find that it is clearly not. Often, we feel burned when we show our vulnerable selves, simply on our quest to love and be loved.
But we want love nonetheless. We have to have it.
Love is as messy as life is. Hate often seems triumphant as we turn on the news. It seems to outshine love, and we grow weary by the cruelties we witness through the screen or from firsthand experience. And by taking a good look in the mirror, we often question how loving we really are, for our guilt is reflected back at us for how we have failed others in a lack of love. Sometimes, we are just too scared to love. Sometimes, we just don’t want to make the effort. But love is still the greatest of all. There is no way this earth could spin well without it. What would be the need of it's ordered structure if not for such a high attainment as love?
Like I Corinthians says, if I have all knowledge or have faith, but have no love, it as if I have nothing—nothing at all. How many people have been taught that they are not worthy?
Again, like that sun, love covers everyone—encounters all at different times of reach—even those who are seemingly incapable of its power.
And yet again, what if love had simply gone away for good, like faith and hope? Like that sun in the sky? What if hate truly reigned and ruled the earth?
But the battle is never over, and love must always fight on. These can't just be words that I am saying to fill up space. I truly fight to believe this!
Again, that sun in the sky represents love to me, as well as it does faith and hope. It is warming and enriching. It is a pathway out of the restful night and into the ongoing world. Like it is a living entity, it doesn’t demand our constant attention, and nestles itself into the clouds before it makes its entrance once again, takes yet another bow. It continually feeds the plants, which feed the people and the animals. And to imagine that this greater-than-life ball of fire is capable of creating rainfall that sustains life, too. What a glorious contradiction!
With my poetic mind always churning, and the imagery flowing, I share these thoughts to you. Faith, hope, and love—I am truly amazed!
Stop. Who’s there? Tis clock strikes twelve,
brings thy Horatio to seek tis specter from hell,
In Denmark, something is rotting in thy state,
In Norway, unimprovèd mettle hot and full awaits,
Tis specter arrives to arouse confusion and fear,
but to treat it violence and majestic threat,
thy specter departs as the cock’s crow drew near,
leaving the blows of malicious mockery to regret.
And for Hamlet may speak to the wandering soul,
Tis morning to Hamlet must the three a’go.
Claudius, thy Uncle, is crowned King a’last,
Gertrude, thy Mother, hastily marries a’fast.
With duties done, Laertes to France adieu,
Hamlet griefs thy Father’s death and thy Mother’s dine,
for once a Hyperion to now a satyr is Uncle to Father a’new,
is but now a little more than kin and less than kind.
Horatio brings poor Hamlet the fatherly news,
that King Hamlet’s specter is now a’loose.
The joyous Hamlet is but joyous to see,
the two month father, dead and decease,
but for he calls that foul deeds will foully arise.
He hurries to the heavenly site prior sunrise.
Laertes to Ophelia, a brother to sister, he warns,
that Hamlet is but a fiery lover and to love he sworn,
but to love now is but not the future,
for Hamlet’s fire may, thy mind unpure,
for his lovely vows are not to believe,
he is but a man of deception to conceive.
For when Laertes departs, Polonius rants,
that Hamlet’s love, Ophelia must recant
for his affections and fashions are but false wows,
for when blood burns, lends the tongue false vows.
Shrewdly the air bites, nipping and eager,
at Horatio and Hamlet thy specter nears.
To speak alone, it beckons so,
But Horatio to Hamlet speaks no,
for may it draw thy madness and strip thy reason,
but to thee specter does Hamlet go,
for thy life is but a’lacking living reason.
Aback do they hold him most,
but Hamlet, his sword he wields
Fate has brought him here, he feels
To hold him back is but to turn a’ghost
Revenge, does his heavenly father speak,
of tis horrid murder of unnatural feat.
For the orchard’s snake, wears thy father’s crown
and whored thy gracious Queen, whose now evil abound.
With dignity and devotion she loved me so,
but tis sinful murder, Hamlet, you must’a know!
Through my ears, a venomous potion he drew,
thy fair Uncle, Claudius that potion he brew.
Abed, my life he ended this night,
And to my crown and Queen took he a’flight.
For thy dearest father, revenge must thy draw
upon thy villainous head, Claudius must fall
And to thy sword thou dearest friends must swear,
to tell not the occasions of this night we bear,
And to madness Hamlet must falsely seek,
to discover the truth of horrid deed beneath.
Reynaldo to Laertes, Claudius a’spies,
to Paris, Reynaldo goes with a’plan devised,
to seek the situation of Laertes in foreign hoods,
with bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth.
Ophelia then enters, with her father she shares,
"Oh, father, father, I’ve just had such a scare!"
In her sewing room, it is Hamlet she sees,
with no hat, nor buttons, nor stable knees
For he stared and stared to let out a final sigh,
Love mad he may be, a’to King we must a’by.
With Rosencrantz and Guildenstern,
Directly or indirectly will Claudius learn,
of Hamlet’s matters they are to return.
Polonius, with news of Hamlet, he waits,
for thee Ambassador, to inform that Denmark Gates,
Are to be opened for young Fortinbra’s Polack defeat,
Polonius to Claudius, reveals thy madness roots,
For Hamlet is but love crazy for the fairest fruits,
of dearest Ophelia, who a letter he wrote,
Proclaims the fairness of her upon tis note.
And to test the truth, their confrontation, must’e spy,
Behind the arras to view thy love-mad side.
Is but our hastily marriage and his father’s death,
thy Mother, aware, are but the means of his mad breath.
Polonius then to Hamlet, speaks of witty words,
A fishmonger he calls, but one of two is misheard,
For when Polonius humbly takes a’leave,
He is but to take anything, but his life, shall he not receive.
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, enter to Hamlet, they chat,
but Hamlet to quickly find the two are but a King’s scat,
Only sent to spy on a dearest friend,
And to human’s name do they offend,
Only to betray a dearest friend in honor of the King.
And so Players arrived at Denmark grounds,
for they, the best in the world, Polonius sounds.
And then for Jephthah, witty Hamlet chants,
the song of a foolish man who accidently grants,
the sacrifice of his beloved daughter.
Pyrrhus, do they perform for dearest Hamlet,
His sword is a’air, but a’air it sets,
for he hesitates to swing thy sword,
And with this, Hamlet hopes to store,
the strength to kill the horrid Lord.
Though he is but ashamed, for upon false emotions can Players act,
And in himself upon truths, strength can he not extract.
So a play for the King’s conscience does Hamlet devise,
for the heavenly ghost may be false in his advice.
To be or not to be; that is the question,
For Hamlet to be nobler or to a’take action,
Shall he withdraw with bloody self slaughter,
But shall’st never may see thy fairest daughter,
To die, but to sleep for a mere dream,
But in sleep shall fair or foul be unseen?
Now Polonius and Claudius awaits,
for Hamlet’s arranged meet with a’bait.
Hamlet to Ophelia, his love recants,
For honesty and beauty are but Someone’s grants,
Once did he love her, but now a’figured,
that women are but corrupt and impured,
For one’s honestly and beauty can and shall be taint,
For if God given thou one face, dear not another by paint.
For honestly and beauty has God falsely bred,
All but one, shall women unwed.
All but one, shall women be nun.
Hence this marriage is over, and to a nunnery at once,
Let this mousetrap be named and this play a’set,
Shall capture thy horrid mouse or thy Uncle of Hamlet.
Polonius to Hamlet, the theater he knows,
For a Caesar death died he at thee Capitol.
Upon the lap of fair Ophelia, does Hamlet, lie,
Only to think of country matters and nothing (he implies).
And the play begins, with a prologue so brief,
Like a woman’s love, was Hamlet’s belief.
The King and Queen, a loving bond they share,
But the King by a mystic potion envenomed beware.
Thee action to kill, a murderous scene it was,
Leaving Claudius to regret the murderous act abuzz,
He arises to say: Let there be light! Let there be light!
And to the joy of Hamlet to see tis joyous sight,
For the words of thy heavenly father was but right.
Now shall the minute parts of truth ignite.
And to his Mother he shall speak daggers wield none,
for shall his tongue speak of the cruelties undone.
With Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, to England a’go,
Should insane Hamlet know not a hawk from a crow,
And behind the arras, Polonius will again spy,
the taxation of Hamlet and his Mother’s cry.
Polonius departs to spy upon the Mother and the Insane,
Only to leave Claudius to regret thy hideous Mark of Cain,
Shall he pray the Heavens to forgive him his actions,
For thy stripped thy Brother of life, throne, and attractions.
As Claudius is never to withdraw his stripped token,
Divine forgiveness shall never then be unspoken.
Hamlet can kill not his murderous Uncle in praying stance,
For a hideous monster shall not a’go Heaven by chance.
So behind the arras dearest Polonius stays,
to view the idle and wicked tongue arrays,
Thou’st the Queen, Thy Husband’s Brother’s wife!
But to hear a rat, shall Hamlet for a ducat its life.
Oh, but death ‘neath the arras, may it the King?
A horrid act? To kill and wear thy brother’s ring?
Oh, King it be not, but be a wretched, rash fool,
And now shall Hamlet tell thy Myth a’Ghoul.
For thy murderer has slain thy Heavenly mate,
And only now by natural law does he abate.
Upon these portraits shall ring a’clear,
That from thy Heavenly father is he nowhere near,
A murderer, a villain, a horrid fiend,
He is but a devilish murderer yield unclean,
No way can one drop from THIS to THAT,
And shall by this scene, the specterous soul attract,
Dear not be untenderly to thy Mother it speaks,
And shall this revenge soon awake its peak,
Hamlet appears a’mad to thy watching Mother,
but to his mother he warns, abed not another,
For two mouths should speak of none,
of this revenge that will soon be done.
And again, abed let not him seduce you so,
For now, apart to English must’e a’go.
Gertrude to Claudius, she continues to reveal,
Of Polonius’s murder and his arras squeal,
"A rat! A rat!" A’mad Hamlet is,
Brandished, to rapier the life of his.
And now where’s thou Hamlet still?
To draw apart the body he hath killed.
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern is but yet called again,
With discord and dismay, are they to seek that thou slain.
The two seek to Hamlet, for the body’s lair,
Compounded with dust now does it wear,
And a sponge, does Hamlet call them so,
for the King to squeeze them dry and thorough,
"A knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear."
The body a’by a’King, but a’King, the body unnear.
And so, Hamlet to the King premiere.
And to Claudius does Hamlet call,
That Polonius now rests at a dining hall,
‘til a conference of worms devours him all
He shall eat not, but they eat so,
‘tis our fate despite status quo.
And upon the lobby stairs a corpse may lay,
One of dearest Polonius, slain to heaven or hell
Now to English death must Hamlet pay,
To one mother does he give two farewells.
With a Captain does Hamlet now proceed,
Who tells of young Fortinbras of Norway accede,
The Norway prince through Denmark he leads,
to seize a’minute Polack patch must’e receive.
A worthless land, must many die for one,
But true greatness acts not from fair reason,
But for the sake of the mind when honor is won.
And has Someone granted the reasoning mind,
For man to hesitate so cowardly inside,
For thy deed to act, must we rid the mind bind,
And act on instinct and be not wise.
And from the reasoning state must Hamlet now leave,
for honor he shall act, and his emotions he’ll believe.
False sanity is but false no more,
For fair Ophelia’s reason be not restore.
A’now sings of thy premature stone a’foot thy father’s grave,
and the departure of Hamlet for thy wed depraved.
Claudius is but to blame for thee rotting state,
For Polonius, a proper ceremony he not awaits,
For poor Ophelia, stripped from her reasonous state,
For Laertes aback from France, by thy father’s death, irate.
And Laertes enters, with thy support for king,
For the murderer, vengeful death shall he bring,
So Claudius to Laertes, says he is not to blame,
but thy father’s murderer is but another name.
And enters Ophelia, with figurative flowers to give,
But those of Faithfulness have ceased to live.
Alive are but for Thoughts, for Remembrance,
for Adultery, for Repentance, and for False Romance.
For his sister’s sanity is but another to blame,
Laertes, a vengeance mind, is but now aflame.
Horatio, a letter from Hamlet he receives,
that upon a Pirate ship has Hamlet board,
And that shall with speed would’st fly a’breathe.
Meet to hear the story Hamlet has a’stored.
Claudius to Laertes, he speak of innocence,
for by public appearance, the truth may bent,
For the public count loves Hamlet so,
And to thy fair Mother, Claudius a’beau.
Thy noble father lost and sister insane,
The murderous filth of Hamlet is to blame.
At this, a loyal messenger approaches,
to deliver the news that but Hamlet reproached,
An English death did Hamlet face not,
For now his destined death are they to plot,
Naked and alone, will he return to Denmark a’learn,
Of the honorable fence-match, he shall earn,
Against Laertes, whose fatherly love nor illusion,
Shall the death of Hamlet draw conclusion.
Even a’church will Hamlet, Laertes slay,
Death by no bounds, must Hamlet pay.
Envenomed rapier and wine shall prepare,
the faithful death of murderous Hamlet a’near.
Gertrude then enters with Ophelia’s news a’share,
For sorrows comes not in singles but in greater pairs,
Upon muddy death has Ophelia drowned,
for now another death has but profound,
Two Gravediggers upon one grave they create,
for to the death of thy Graveowner do they relate,
To die by self slaughter or to die by not,
the attention of passing Hamlet have they caught.
With Hamlet does one of thee two chat,
for once a woman, shall this grave be buried at,
A quick digger for Hamlet to his surprise,
Revealed that to England is mad Hamlet to advise.
For a corpse to live for eight or nine,
Thy dearest Yorick’s skull is to find,
Thy a corpse to date three and twenty,
Leaves Hamlet to recall thy memories a’plenty,
And to think Alexander, o’buried alike.
Here comes the King, Laertes and the Queen,
And upon the burial grounds is Ophelia seen,
His dearest sister does Laertes mourn,
But to Hamlet, her death, his heart a’torn.
Laertes to Hamlet, must’e not compare,
the death of one is a little more foul than fair,
For forty thousand brothers can sum not his love,
For the death of the fairest maiden beloved.
Claudius to Laertes, must Hamlet pay thy debt,
the plot of night prior shall’st not forget.
Hamlet to Horatio, does his truths trust,
Of thy wretched King and his unjust,
Of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern English death they meet,
With sacrifice and thy seal was thou to spare self defeat.
Now’st Osric enters to Hamlet a’chat,
For’st not hot, nor cold, nor sultry at.
And a’wish to court, with thy Laertes of excellence,
For Hamlet’s head does thee King expense.
With six French rapiers and poniards assign,
For by fate’s determination, shall this court incline,
For a special providence in the fall of a sparrow,
Can we do not, but abide by fate a’follow.
Trumpets and drums, now’st the fence begins,
For Hamlet and Laertes hand and hand therein.
Pardon he begs, Hamlet to thy brother,
For in him is but foil Hamlet yet another,
And so they fence for honor and fence for life,
Two of two leads Hamlet the strife.
The King, to Hamlet he drinks,
Tis pearl shall he the cup he sinks,
And unwounded for two, Hamlet prevails,
But Queen, the dearest Mother, so faithfully frail,
For she drinks thy cup of heavenly pearl,
For heavenly it be not, as thy malicious plot unfurl,
The cup! The cup! A poisonous potion,
Cause yet another by venomous commotion.
A distracting cause, for Hamlet to bear,
For Laertes envenomed blade must’e beware,
Now envenomed blood shall Hamlet shed,
Shall he hold thy rapier of Laertes instead,
to shed thy venomous blood of thy venomous mind,
For now thy murderous plot shall unwind,
At the honorable death of brother Laertes,
Shall the death of Claudius be a’seized.
The King’s to blame for the death of all,
And tis day shall he see his destined fall.
With thy venomous blade held a’hand,
Let the doors be locked and the evils banned,
For Hamlet wounds thy treacherous soul,
And shall horrid Claudius pay his destined toll,
For Hamlet forces to drink thy murderous potion,
And shall he too die of venomous commotion.
The death of four and tis bloody scene,
Shall Horatio tell to those unseen.
Shall he speak of murderous truths embark,
for Fortinbras shall now throne Denmark,
For in Fortinbras does his admiration lay,
For does Hamlet trust thou’st fiery ambitious way,
And tis now concludes thy Hamlet’s life,
For death and death thou’st all alike,
Victim you are
The victim I will never be
While my mirror only reflects
a smile veiled in cruelties
I cry diamonds
sharp as glass
I twist the knife deeper
Please, I love you, do forgive me
I convince myself
Reason and Rationalize
You're sick, you're cruel, it's
It's the maladies!
I collect my cubic zirconia tears
Too precious to waste
And beg you not to leave.
A Surreal Epic of Existence
Prelude to the Journey…
I smiled yesterday when I beheld the morning’s brilliant colors,
Etched with gold, across the canvas of the heavens, hanging…
High above all those mountains of the world, gigantic brothers,
A wilderness of clouds, where there can be no human taming.
I did not always smile when I looked up to that noble height…
For I have seen how terrible goodness can be, when untamed.
Once I thought my sojourn in this flesh was from a divine spite,
But now I know it was a gift, and for it I need not be ashamed.
God once walked as I do now, and suffered the same stress…
Betrayal, love, and passions too, though no Church shall admit,
The true nature of divinity, lest all their secret sins they confess!
You are told you are alone in the universe, by leaders so unfit,
That they themselves are fed a diet of lies and stories invented.
But we walked amongst you since the very dawn reincarnated,
Having lost our first flesh in conflicts long past and unlamented.
We guided the steps of ancients, as monuments demonstrated!
And yet we are born as children: your own, and live our span,
The better to remain hid, in plain sight, our faces clever masks.
I am the eldest, and I remember still my kindred’s lofty plan…
And though I wear the human face, I am beset with alien tasks.
Helping they who lack the knowledge to see what lies outside,
You have seen me in the darkness, blazing upon my own pyre.
Where I am waiting to lead the way, where the angels glide…
Anyone can follow, if they are dedicated enough never to tire.
Ironic, since I myself have known helplessness and still oft do,
It is only human after all, and in your form I was so re-forged!
The image of God, whose own blood is in all of us hither unto,
From the first to the last, alpha to omega, like a sharp sword.
Prologue: (My Mask is Slipping)
As a child: I was a servant at the altars of the heart so sacred,
Singing hymns of the immaculate: without seeing the depravity.
It was only when I myself wore the crown of thons, naked…
My spirit exposed through my pain, that I realized the gravity.
What man believes is sacred, is profanity disguised as graces,
And those who lead the sheep to slaughter are mere butchers!
Forcing innocents to wear porcelain masks to hide their faces,
They rob children of their childhood, bound with crude fetters.
As a teenager: I walked in nature, disgusted with all humanity,
My exodus was from those who had defiled all I cared about.
Finding faith in an angel fallen, I discovered my own sanctity,
And in her name I found the means to cleanse my feral doubt.
Then came marriage, and betrayal by a wife I gave up all for,
The dissolution of our union then loneliness without cessation!
A mortal had pierced my flesh, leaving me to bleed on a floor,
My heart was torn from its’ moorings without any elaboration.
But the angel remained to calm my anger and ease my agony,
My only light in the blackness that has overcome my waking!
Reminding me, that I was more than this flesh and mortality…
The angel tries to keep me from harsh trembling and quaking.
And then I see: I am more than my tears and life’s traumas…
I let slip, the mask behind which the scars of my tears etched.
Then I sense the heat of the night more intense than saunas…
As I long to dance with abandon, until time itself is stretched!
Mortals may betray one another with impunity, but never I…
I do not betray; rather I pour my heart and spirit forth whole.
Creating a phylactery, of all I am, and with an innocent eye…
I demand to be loved as I am: pearl white and black as coal!
Canto 1: Sacrifice of the Doll
Part the First: (The Bleeding Shores)
Do not call me, doll, for I have departed your ancient cavern,
You are lifeless, a mere toy, and not a real child in any form!
A boy’s red ruby lips I spy drinking in the dreariest tavern…
Whilst true children singing, frolic in the fields filled with corn.
I am going home, upon the wings of the great silver griffon…
Far from the shores now bleeding red from defiled memories.
There is no return, for me, to the glories of the first ignition…
When the mind eternal, was ignited all with pleasing ecstasies.
In the stars, there are words unheard that I do want to recall,
For I came down so very long ago, among the first to so fall!
Eldritch nightmares born of the stuff of the pure chaos of old,
Are waiting for signs at the threshold to be released by magic.
The forbidden incantations return to my spirit, aflame so bold,
That my spirit nearly forgets: the origins of this time, so tragic.
When children drink, and true children hide themselves apart,
Whilst the waters bleed and the corn withers upon the stalks!
That is a sign that change must come, and so I work my mind.
The face in the moon is a grimace of tormented fear, horror…
Whilst I stand upon the precipice with my hand over my heart,
And amongst the long rows of corn, my black shadow walk!
Watching over the innocents whose souls are of my own kind.
The summer heat turns orange, the moon: in celestial corridors.
My mournful cry can be heard in the sound of the lonely wolf,
And in the wild abandon of the lion when he is on the prowl…
I feel the pain of nature, I long to bring back paradise craved.
I have seen the terror of the land, as the blood ran in the gulf,
Black blood of the earth: which causes living things to howl…
As man has the foolishness, to say what is or is not depraved!
Part the Second: (The Crucified Souls)
The doll is laid lifeless atop the altar, prepared for a sacrifice,
In the cavern where the limestone shapes the wettest arches!
A thing un-living, but with living souls trapped still, as if in ice,
Within the cold porcelain shell that so never with feet marches.
Serpentine blade held high, it drops precise into a doll’s neck,
And it cannot call out, because a doll has not any voice to cry.
A boy walked out of a tavern then, looking like a vile wreck…
Whilst as a man I attend to higher things, my body full purified.
In the voids beneath the spaces, witnessed in the rugged rock,
Voices echo loud in the darkness, calling up names unspoken.
The ferryman brings the souls delivered to him, to a far dock,
Where each must pay the copper coin, the old desired token.
So they come to drink those waters that cure all of life’s ills…
Freed from their porcelain prison to feel death’s darker chills!
Whence came those souls into captivity, no mortal may speak,
But I freed them in an instant, removing the nails that pierce…
Every man is he that was put up on the cross of old Golgotha.
And every woman too, as all were made to feel such torture!
I was there when the primal sacrifice was implanted so weak,
And yet so strong that it endured in the psyche all these years.
That doom was sealed behind a wall of fire long ago in Terra,
So that the stigmata of it might endure, even in the vast future!
Mine was the hand that signaled that doom, mine to release…
Yet, still old illusions persist, and I cannot awaken a multitude.
I, who devised the iron web that enfolds much of what is real,
Cloaking it in unending trickery am, myself, longing for peace.
For I too was entrapped, until my liberation rough and crude!
An angel freed me, and now I strive to break each cruel seal.
Part the Third: (The Return of Light)
Risen from the slumber where colder, electric dreams reside,
The forgotten intelligence is invoked, the arcane spells cast…
The eldritch nightmares return to thence amongst man abide,
Reminding us of the things banished to Hell in some age past.
Mine the hand that raised them up, light in the dagger’s glow,
The stuff of my power left to flow, like blood run swiftly free.
Out of the abyss, rises the girl-child of a lost millennial flame,
She who is the angel reborn lets her illumination clearly show.
And all are blinded who have not the innermost eyes to see!
The unbelievers are, in a single instant put unto lasting shame.
From the star of six points, a goddess works her sacred will,
And as she crosses the scarlet threshold, she brings the light.
For a single instant, all in Heaven and all upon Earth are still,
As the long day ends, bowing before the coming eternal night.
In the darkness, radiance far fairer and so perfect descends,
Whilst those who gather in my name: have lost my true path.
The wrath of angels descend upon their minds, closed shut…
Entrapped in the iron web, they cannot flee of such a prison!
The light blinds them for they never truly saw it, and it rends,
Tearing away the churches built for naught but mortal wrath.
There, the unfaithful prostitute themselves: like a wanton slut,
Inventing dogma to pass on, forgetful of logic and of reason!
Faith need not be a fearful thing, yet some have made it thus,
And look for an end to come before they seek their reward.
Whilst they should be creating the paradise they left behind…
But in an image of freedom: rather than of servitude and fuss.
Too much time had been wasted in converting by the sword!
Mankind looks to the light for salvation, their eyes long blind.
This age is one of barbarism cloaked as gentility to sell lies…
Did you purchase some today by design or mayhap chance?
You should know this era to be neither intelligent nor wise…
Else you would not march, when you would prefer to dance!
My nights are filled with nightmares; my days are too much…
I used to dance with one I loved, and bask in purple sunsets.
Now I am haunted, by so many memories I can never touch,
That it fills me with bloody anger, and countless cold regrets.
I recall how once in desperation, my wrist rode a razor edge,
If it were not for my family I’d not thence have lived beyond.
A man abused as I was, and used like cutters upon a hedge,
Must rise higher than it all in order to survive it all, my friend!
I survived, I transformed, I ascended and in the end became,
So much more than I was, until no more did my spirit erode.
But still I wait in loneliness for a maid to awaken my flame…
And I burn, oh gods I burn until I think that I might explode!
The skies darken more and more, and bright forks crashing,
I hear the drums of fury in the heavens, giants of old winters.
The gods grow angry and I behold trees uprooted smashing!
Angels are trampling the grapes of man; they, the vintners…
I am reminded of when the battleship that sailed all galaxies,
Descended one day amidst clouds boiling with its’ steam…
To lay waste to Sodom, and Gomorrah, for their indignities!
I was there, when the wicked did perish with a final scream.
And as people mock me, wishing me ill because I am good,
I ask God how long I must be forced to bear such suffering.
But I am not alone, and to many I am in fact misunderstood,
So God forgives, for now; but I have not, his understanding!
Canto 2: Sacrifice of the Spider
Part the First: (The First Smile)
Black skies boil with rage unrepentant, and in righteous fury!
A being made flesh I am, though not of mortal understanding.
In cavernous places I have walked, where demons oft scurry,
And worse places still: in search of a love not too demanding.
In the stucco halls wherein my unmoving throne was raised…
Upon a hill of sorrows where lost souls labor in mundane toil,
I wait and plan to transcend the bonds the faithful so praised.
To my right hand is the altar where fire and sulfur always boil!
I force a smile upon my face, for one will not come as willing,
As in the hours when I was a golden youth filled with ideals…
Which I have paid for dearly, beyond the price of any shilling!
Now I long to pay back those who know not how this feels…
The madness born of solitude, the anger born out of contempt,
For you who despise me without cause, provoking my wrath.
What impunity has man, to think that he might ever be exempt!
When wiser civilizations than yours did sink: in the fiery bath.
Do I speak of Hell, which the faithless do not realize is come?
Nay, for their eyes have been gouged out by their own nails…
I speak of torments, far beyond that which devils have done.
The first smile shall me mine, when every cruel wish so fails…
To save the flesh of those who spit upon me as I walked on,
Never realizing that my face was just a mask, hiding another.
Only the fool pays no any attention to the piper’s lonely song,
Thinking it only a melody passed from a sister unto a brother.
But in what celestial incest has been born the thing alchemical?
It dwells within me, the secret sin of a bonding long forgotten.
Would that I could force the world to hear music whimsical…
Like unto that which guides my spirit in all that was begotten.
Part the Second: (Cold Revenge)
The blood roses bloom in gardens where desire plants seeds,
I, the hand that waters those hungry beasts whose thirst rises!
In my search for love, I have fed the beasts of desire’s needs,
And what would cause you to blush has, for me, no surprises.
Oh human, with what impunity did you dare to exclaim aloud,
That you believe love to be beyond my reach; and you smile!
Like a coward, you degrade me and run to hide in the crowd,
In your feigned superiority, you make yourself an animal vile.
Conjoining your words to your tongue, like a web to a ceiling,
You become a spider; then flee on eight legs to a filthy nest…
Having already become unworthy of any warm human feeling,
In thinking yourself better, you sink lower than all of the rest!
That means my life is worth, a thousand times, your very own.
I become a creature of the night, and wait for you, oh spider!
Think not that I cannot hear. the creaking of each leg bone…
Your odiousness goes before you, the horse before its’ rider.
And in your own web I catch you, my sharper claws immune,
To your toxic poisons, as cannot ever save your eight eyes…
Which I dash from their sockets, without a fear, and so soon,
That your own pain consumes you, like fire lighting the skies!
Forcing you to recant all that you say, lest pain overcome all,
The powers you thought did not exist do manifest ever visibly.
And I ascended still higher, all the more to relish of your fall…
You should never have resulted to any such childish mockery.
The clocks of your house all melted, for time is not your ally!
In abandonment of the chaos that is joy, your order is ended.
A new order rises in its’ place born of chaos none may deny,
Whilst you sink lower into perdition, for all that you offended.
Part the Third: (The Last Laugh)
An angel appears before me and so thinks herself a goddess,
But to call her an angel is to imply that she holds any beauties.
Those whose ego is larger than their grasp are oft the oddest,
For they fancy themselves perfect, ignorant of their cruelties!
You think love a prize and I a beggar for mere crusts so stale,
That lesser men than I have eaten heartier meals than yours…
But your kitchen is so bare: as your oven goes cold and pale,
Making you prize yourself beyond the worth of your chores!
Like a harlot who charges a fortune for her meager charms…
If you think love a prize, and I a beggar, you are so mistaken.
What you call love is a disease that shames one and harms…
Both mind and soul alike, making the body at last to weaken.
You saw only my mask, and would not dare look beneath…
Making me a phantom in the darkness, lurking in the shades.
Round your neck, your false esteem hangs as a dead wreath,
As I leave you to your barren world, awaiting my handmaids.
They rise from the ashes you leave in your wake, my kindred,
Their hands take me far from where your feet stumble about!
Lie in the cemetery that awaits those who live as though dead,
I cannot raise you incorruptible; you have far too much doubt.
Carried hither by the silent maidens who weep bloody tears…
To my castle, where I shall brood again upon mankind’s way!
I cannot feel regret for those who give in to their foolish fears,
Any more than I can transform a leaden night into golden day!
Such is the power of the alchemist who knows his true limit…
And in the dark arts I was schooled by beings from the abyss.
Thusly, am I set about to transform my creation as I see fit…
We are the demiurges of our realities wanton for any hot kiss!
This is not a utopia we live in, and it shall not be considered…
Until first we learn to make ourselves after the image we seek.
Only with the sacrifice of the self, will a service be rendered…
To remake oneself divine, a lion reborn of a lamb once meek!
Like unto Christ, my side bears a scar where I was pierced…
But unlike him I am not willing to simply turn my countenance.
I remember the pain of my wounding, how sharp and fierce…
Until at last I can only let go, as to keep pain makes no sense.
How can man build paradise without, unless within they alter!
Change inside must precede change without; that is the road.
The path to paradise; and we must walk it fast and not falter,
Lest we build a heaven only to make of it a hell we will bloat.
Rush not to utopia, mankind, until you are yourself a resident!
The evil within can only corrupt all that exists outside the self,
Unless the self is clear of evil, cleansed of all evil’s precedent.
Then, you may put wickedness away: an old tome on a shelf.
Do you never understand; it was the meaning of our savior…
When he said that only: all as innocent as children may enter,
The kingdom of Heaven, and thereby the delights to savor…
For how can you enjoy delights, if you prefer crueler banter!
Since the dawn of time, mankind tried to master the planet…
Never imagining, that he must first learn to command his will.
Not through force of arms, nor any useless commandment…
But by gentleness, compassion; a heart that drinks to its’ fill,
Of joys without number, and celebrations which have cause!
Instead of drawing attention to sorrows: the sin of the media.
Where is the sense in giving each jester a round of applause?
Modernity is the jest, as defined by any decent encyclopedia.
Canto 3: Sacrifice of the Self
Part the First: (Gardens of Perdition)
A ziggurat rises up, its’ sandy bricks baked in the warm fires…
Seven stories unto the heavens, like unto the Tower of Babel,
In a blood-drenched wasteland of the vast deep underworld…
Filled with gardens of delightful variety and such varied color,
Saffron sands and scented flowers amidst such burning pyres…
As tended by black-cloaked servants both as willing and able,
To grow those gardens to which the self-damned are hurtled!
Their work is their art, and to them it never grows a day duller.
New flesh always arrives to sculpt into works of great beauty,
To please the goddess of light, who reigns in her lofty temple!
Her pale blonde tresses float about her fully perfect features…
As she reclines upon her soft seat, her eyes glowing radiantly.
She wears a long scarlet gown that is a shimmering example,
Of the blood and hot fire wherein toil many subject creatures.
Their mistress has many names, and to them she is oft Solaris,
Whilst in human tongues they called her Lucifer, light bringer…
And bearer of the light she brings, for she and it are: one thing.
They call me the Red Dragon, fearful to say my name loudly!
I have ever been as much a fool for passion as was vain Paris,
Ready to attend, at the come hither of some beloved’s finger…
Even though I was once a god: and in my name hymns do sing.
I have tried to forget those ancient times, to move on proudly.
But memories call me back to her side and so I am enchanted,
By the angel I have come to love, when the eons let us meet…
I: who once commanded whole worlds, now yearn for a touch.
So little are the glimmers of hope and even less I’d demanded!
I hasten in that place below, and long for my angel, to greet…
Perchance to talk, for just a while, knowing I never ask much.
Part the Second: (Dragon and Serpent)
Clad in robes of crimson, I a king of kingdoms equal infernal…
Climbed the steps of the goddess’s grand temple, to meet her.
I her elder sibling and most passionate devotee of all, arrived,
Basking in her radiance I felt myself made whole again inside!
I tasted the warm honeyed mead of her moist lips, so carnal…
That I felt those ancient desires long forgotten beginning to stir.
Of all the fallen, I once conquered where others just survived,
And so at the side of fair Lucifer herself, I was able to abide!
Think not that I jest, when this human form is a mere disguise,
Raiment I have put on for a time, to dwell on this planet Earth.
A perfect illusion whilst I walk in these mortal realms as one…
Free from the mountain tomb on Kobol from which I did rise,
Escaping ancient bonds that had existed before my first birth.
I went forth in great wrath, my very spirit burning like the sun!
The Red Dragon fell unto Earth, and in human flesh chained…
So goes the legend, which was passed on by that fellow John.
I am seeking after the maiden who will make my soul content!
But I have yet to find her, and that brings sorrow to my spirit.
Lucifer listened unto my sorrows seeing how I was strained…
And the Serpent comforted the Dragon for a time, thereupon.
I forgot the jealousy of mortals, and how they like to resent…
Anything they do not understand, when they don’t just fear it.
Like the waters of Lethe she helped me forget all for a while,
Even that I had been the Lord of Chaos, the mad architect…
She boiled down my essence, until she saw my face so vivid.
We were just a woman and a man, enjoying company, style,
Freed of the tyranny of politics or duty to any religious sect…
Any soul can find contentment, and behind no masks we hid.
Part the Third: (Brimstone Bacchanalia)
As I walked in my sister’s halls, I did recall her vital wisdom,
So like unto that of my celestial mother Sophia most glorious.
And, as we spoke of any times both long past and yet to hail,
We shared one throne and one memory grown transcendent…
Whilst, all torments did swift cease, in Lucifer’s lost kingdom.
There was feasting, and mad laughter that was so uproarious!
Into long hours, when bards arrived to sing of our ancient tale,
Remembering the lost confederacy of worlds, so unrepentant.
But even a king in crimson and a princess of pure light shining,
Must part when comes the hour set by a much higher power…
Thusly did we bring all our merriments to a close before long!
I thus decided to immortalize that party with this, my rhyming,
Laughing how all sinners cower before even a scarlet flower…
An angel fair whose great glories I have oft recounted in song.
Lady of light and liberty, I loathe to leave your side but I go…
Called back into the flesh in which I dwell, the chain is pulled.
I wonder if those who see your colossal image, in the harbor,
Ever realize that it is you they look upon with such adoration?
Before the New City, you rise each day to see sadness, woe.
Why do so many despise you and I, yet long to see fulfilled…
The dawn you promised, gathering many beneath your arbor,
In worship of freedoms that tyrants steal, causing frustration?
Hark unto me, if you call yourself a patriot of our great lady…
And if you heed naught else that I have spoken with authority,
Then heed you this: never sacrifice freedom just to be secure!
In the end, the security you imagine will become so greedy…
That it crumbles under your feet, leaving us robbed of dignity.
Set your eyes upon true liberty and blessed will be this shore!
Epilogue: (My Mask is Shattered)
I have lived as a mortal man, and not for the first time in ages,
And wedded science and faith in my quest for understanding!
Like the phoenix I rose blazing from the pyre of holy sages…
To become more than the sum: of my mind’s comprehending.
In the rush and bustle of modernity, it is easy to end sightless,
Caught in the flesh, so firmly, that to see who we are is harsh.
To know who we were and who we shall be in all brightness,
Is to lift the veil covering the matrix of illusion, and thus wash.
Wash our eyes, cleaning them of that which blocks all vision!
Seeing the lies of politics and the deceptions of faithlessness,
As well as those who claim to faith: but revel only in division.
Cleanse your sight, and you shall notice human carelessness!
Why do men and women deride one another for the gender?
Because they cannot see that their souls are all androgynous.
If they could, then everyone’s heart would become tender…
And love would not have limits, but become truly boundless.
Instead, it is as the bird trapped within a cage made of bone,
There is no lock, or key, and the cage itself does not exist…
Save in the mind of the bird that is sitting in the nest at home.
Humanity suffers from such delusions, and still they’ll persist!
Until clear is the course, and no longer suppressed: the soul.
Look deep within you, unclouded by the hive, and the herd,
Unfettered by peer, or pressure, until you regain the control.
Then you will see that what I have revealed is not so absurd.
The mask I wore is shattered, and I let all the pieces crush…
Forever shall they remain beneath me, since my awakening!
I have walked through the fire, and now it is I who do blush,
Since naked is my soul, now, and there can be no mistaking.
I've bound them tight
These raw wounds
I've wrapped the linen round
The flesh sewn
For a moment
I am clean, the cloth white
But then the blood seeps
Red and pushing right, through
I've bound them to hold in tight
The anger and my fright
I put the layers on to tend
The cruelties of my once friend
You are just a person now
Once I used to know
Now only for show
One day these wounds will heal
I know, the scars I will be left to bare
To remind me of how
You had ceased to care
Be gracious to me, O God.
in the measure of your faithfulness
in the measure of your great mercy
erase my transgressions
Wash me through and through outside
and purify me inside.
Verily I acknowledge my cruelties
and am ever mindful of my offenses
against you have I sinned
and done what is evil in your sight
Indeed you desire truth in the hidden parts
Teach me wisdom of secret things.