The King is dead,
but did he ever live?
Maybe once as a fanciful prince, prancing and prating in roguish youth,
heart aglow with life's first love.
But that prince, too, died,
As a mantle of hoary grey was laid upon his shoulders,
cold and stiff like the morning frost,
leaden and heavy like the sarcophagus lid,
from the burden of life he fled;
The King is dead,
but did he ever live?
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC
Dark shadows move, fro and twain,
From twin heights that tower, merging into one.
Center your delight 'neath the far flung moon
Curved in crescent hook that lights the vale.
Breathe smoky spheres that quiver like anxious tendrils,
Fruit of the vine ripened to a sweetness sickn'd,
the weight of breath falls slow.
And trepidatious,
The twigs that shake and shamble, twitch and snap,
'Neath the dewy growth, impatient and unworthy,
The flash of lust and danger, now, a fear, instills.
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
Silence
is subject.
Infinite and default.
The sublime,
a poets' boon.
But silence
is not our lot.
We clutter,
filling,
filling.
Trash skyscrapers,
corpses
language and noise.
Noise.
Wonderful, rapturous noise.
Grinding steel,
movement of earth,
Noises of lives,
big and small.
And we're getting closer,
filling infinity with our mounds
and heaps.
Meaningless and beautiful,
what's here and what's left,
resounding to the edge of reason,
further
and
further.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 6:47 PM UTC
I was taught to be a knight;
tattered favor streaming from my lance tip,
and agéd honor my saddlemate.
That this was the ultimate,
and through service and sacrifice,
Love would be bestowed.
But my sword rusts to its sheathe,
crusted in ancient blood.
The iron heavy and burden
encasing the dusty heart beneath.
Upon my weak-kneed steed,
As I quietly pine,
I begin to wonder
Will a damsel ever rescue me?
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
When you die, they will call it duty.
Bound up in honor, wrapped in glory,
you will find your grave.
Your nobility will be documented
and it will ease the tears
and woe owned by those bereft;
your heroism will soothe the heartache
and pride will belong to those who claim you.
But,
when they are forgotten
and the marble is blank
we will stand
and ask,
"Why?"
and,
doubtless,
your silence will speak for itself.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 2:45 AM UTC
The Goddess of the Moon dethroned; hark, she strikes-
the hunter she remains.
Her next prey she takes,
setting him among her hounds.
“Forth!” cry she, and forth he go,
Frenzied in rage by the mistress.
The former prey, his escape near completed
but new hound upon him set,
the wolf, he is, and he is wounded
escape he make, it not be yet.
His wounds, to which he may have attended
And made his life profuse in ecstasy,
But alas, new hound upon him baited
Pinned is he now, below his maw.
“Forth!” Quoth she, the former Prey overtaken,
Cruel arrow strike among the vitals,
Even further crippl’d be he.
Set upon by hounds and jackals,
Escape he makes,
Seems but an impossibility.
He crieth out in pain and lashes out at cruel once mistress,
Turning upon a cur, once friend
“Did I not at once befriend you?”
“Aye,” say he, “but attack command doth my mistress send.
A cruel beast am I, to be obeyed by none,
Once wild but contained now among her fleet.
Bewitched by her bait of comfort,
and tantalizing cuts of meat.”
Onward flees the former,
Set upon by pack and foot
Running from his love, now fallen;
Goddess of the moon; now mortal.
He stumbles forth weak and wounded,
But laughs with sick incredulity,
“I fear, my friend, you hath been tricked,
Nothing but pain and woe await for thee.
Although I am hurt and heavy,
My escape I make, and too my recovery.
Although I have not a place to run,
My defenses shall I prepare for thee.
And once her arrows no longer find me,
Her frustration mounts forevermore,
For I wert the one to she denieth,
The quarry escaped from her bitter clutch,
Her rages shall fall upon you, the silent,
Innocent cur, bewitched in her trust.”
An arrow flew and missed its mark,
And former prey made his escape.
Domestic cur sat now puzzling,
Would there ever come a day?
“Cur!” she cried, the brazen huntress
What fault is it that he hath escap’d?
Would you not have him captured for eternal torture,
To please thy mistress forevermore?”
He looks upon her with woe and worry,
“Why him doth you desire so?
Wherefore his eternal torture
Do you desire him to be in constant throes?
Thou hast me now,” he cries despairing,
“Canst thou be sate, is this not enough?
Must his pain you also seeth,
To satisfy your sickn’d mind?”
“You are my hound, dearest of course,
But one of many I am afraid,
This one cleverly hath escaped,
If not possessed, he must be slain.
No wild coyote may treat me so,
For Artemis, am I.
No one may disrespect the huntress,
with flashing teeth and golden eye.
Forth! I say, forth, go onward,
In pursuit may you him follow,
For my arrows are not enough display
Of the pain deserved him so.”
Here the cur sat wondering,
Lost among his mistress’ hate,
He began to puzzle her condition,
And if her rage would ever sate.
“Doth you not hate him?
He is mine enemy, this is for sooth.
Thereby the ‘proximation,
Should he be yours in truth, in truth.
Let your rage boil up,
Your hackles slacken,
Your saliva build,
This wild beast hath defamed your maiden!
Your beauty, your treasure, your master and mistress!
Go forth young hound, go forth and be vicious!
Tear him apart, rip him asunder!
Have ye no doubt, and make you no blunder!”
And thence stood the hound,
The Goddess’ new prey,
He ran after the wolf,
With little heed.
His doubts now removed,
His blood now aboil,
His frenzy at max,
He set to his toil.
He would now find the wolf,
And pin him down so,
Allowing his maiden to deal that finite blow.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 2:38 AM UTC
With eyes glazed in dull brilliance,
Clouded with absence of thought
We trampled reason,
Steadily marching onward;
Onward, always onward
Towards the jaws of death
and the gates of infernality
where we could circle
in an eternal debauched reverie.
Free from morality
And the constraints of the judicious flesh
We cast our humanity
Into the jaws of the wolf,
the rotting carcasses
feeding the ferocious bloodlust
which could no longer be ignored.
Raging against his fetters,
He lets loose his howl
And we smile
Because we know no better.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 2:28 AM UTC