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Rhys Hebbs Dec 2020
Just like a child to the adult,
so too do the mighty start as fools,
so long as the fruits of their truth are not rotten,

but take heed,
for rituals live long
when their reasons have been forgotten,
and within this space
is where the darkest devils dwell
Rhys Hebbs Dec 2020
When the wounds and eyes have all dried
and all that remains is ambition,

will you seek to speak, harken and find
the unheard heartbeat of your mind?

Will you plea with your inner-seeker
to usurp your under-dued preacher,

as you sense the spectred seizure
of Lifes tender-touching fever,
weave within your inner-dreamer?

Or will you prefer the feel of dreams in the dark?
Rhys Hebbs Dec 2020
I spent twenty-three years
gathering my army of One.

So, on the eve of the dawn
when all inner-demons are born
and forlorn dreams all bleed at the seams,
the whip-snip of winters wind
will decimate the gold in the day
to proclaim the heir to my king...

and the sacrifice I must pay
for the essential exchange
of any ail-led aspirant
to annihilate any alinement
with the archetype of a tyrant?;

All unearned falsehood must never depart
from any sacred facade held in my heart
lest the lust for Pura Vida be the preacher
to my inner-creatures beseecher,

for adversity is the shunned sage
to those who prefer comfortable fables
and a prophet to those
who harken to heroes.

Thus,

it matters not
any amount of pain that you gained
from playing the truest game
you could play,
with whole heart,
in the wretched world of man,
when now all that remains
are the paint strips flaking away
from the walls in your room
with old age greeting the faith
concealed in your doom

nor, if the portrait of your greatest fate
has forsaken its grace
for the sake of that gorgeous
echoing bellow
heard within the hole in your soul,
for it’s the price all must pay
in the pursuit of being whole.
Rhys Hebbs Nov 2020
Theres a hunger for passion in this world
so devastatingly delirious
and paradoxically toxic,
that it can bring a starving, grown man to his knees to beg for more of his own hunger.

I’ve seen it in the eyes of those that never tried.
Those that could have held the world
in the palm of their hand,
had they only decided to do so.

Now their eyes shine a different way
to those of their golden days,
the way of hate,
the way of submerged fury,
haunting reasons to erupt at the world they could have held,
now their muse of beatings.

Never present and always hunting,
always festering at boiling point
from the moment they arise
to the moment they dream those dreams
of all that could have been
Rhys Hebbs Nov 2020
The dead fly sat sanitised.
Now,
with failed, clipped wings
he feasts with Kings
and he’ll never know the difference
Rhys Hebbs Nov 2020
At the feast for heathens,
I raised a toast to those
who raised themselves
in the fickle fallout
of human nature,
with pop-culture parents,
we chose our own fathers
and married our mothers.
For when the sacred lights of life
died out in the eyes of Apollo,
and Dionysus prowled the avenues
hunting out a new mirror for a mate,
the helping hands slipped away,
into the newly shadowed hollows
where all grace was laid to waste,
in the darkest depths
of the newborns day.

Now,
in the nuclear winter,
where all the Gods have died,
I walk that razor ridge
of romanticism and ambition,
(where anchored dreams
are want to hide)
just to see how far I’ll fall
when my darkest demons
harken the call.
Humbled by the writings
on my skulls inner wall;
truthful hymns which
will mend the wings
of my inner poet and stoic
to see how tenaciously he’ll crawl,
to see his tendency for tender brawls,
to see him arise as the builder
within the razed rubble of Rome;
the only God I’ll ever need
for fashioning a home

So,
if you too have been abused,
and sacred love has left you bruised,
when searching for your answer,
seek out the dancer within your soul,
for the collateral is substantial my dear,
when you walk on broken bones
Rhys Hebbs Nov 2020
Oh youth,

sweet dreams will be the death of me,
requiems for reveries are necessity
to resurrect that which has lived in me

I’ll tune in my inner vision
with fruition of ambition
that defies dead eyed misery.
I’ll fight to see you soon
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