Love
You use it like a currency
One coin — after another —
when slipping through the mouth
of a vending machine
is no longer enough
You shove and pound on!
Until I gag:

moneysecurityopportunitysuccesspridepowerstatusdreamshappin­essthingsthingsthingsdeadthings

When I ask You:
“Do You regret gambling away
in me the Life that was promised
to You  
as a wasteful investment
when my open hand holds only
Disappointment?”

You answer with conviction
suffices to convict me
“Blood is thicker than water
so I will try harder”
as I swallow — each —
and — every —
— well — meaning — copper —
flood my throat
in the ****** beautiful taste of Love
Love
Love
Love
Nothing
but Love.

I shall never starve for Love
if only I had the stomach for such Food.

The splendorous veil
gave listless nights character.

Like a fretful child's shallow dream,
waiting for the lighting to shatter it;
Or waking to neon lights in utter blackness,
Weariness coated with melancholy of boredom,
Discomfort and disturbance at the finest.

Such a sweet thing, such stillness,
A mix of sulphur in the air,
and the savor of ripe fruits rotting.
Its vacillating presence roared
with the village's dirt.

The tiny sticks of burning fuse  
Formed a ring of fire we called shrine
That worshiped the spirit of liberation.
Unadulterated laughter was our prayers
Of the present soon-to-be told in retrospect.

Distant nights in Eden was heavenly.
No blooming roses, tall trees or the moon,
but a wallow in the decadence
of rubble was as good
as a midsummer night's dream.

To a.g., and all the clichés that suffice.    

Here lies the Ocean’s haunting question:
Is it a curse or a gift to be who I am?

                                Who are you then?

Soft touch suffices to smother.
Songs that scream with thunder.  
Hidden depths enough to drown.

Through the sound of the waves
Swashing, breaking, stilling...
The answer of the Earth dawns
In resounding cadence:

A storm is but another name for baptism,
And the Gift of Life I embrace.

Harbinger of death
On the road to Valhalla,
Tall on stallions of silver,
Eternity you shall deliver.

Golden wings and iron fists
Shake the heavens, strike the earth.
Saints or sinners, blessed or cursed,
Our fates written in reverse.

(You have shown us how to fly,
Have you come to take us all to die?)

Chooser of the slain,
Cruel justice be your guide.
You have fire in your eyes,  
Burning brighter in our cries.

(Your wings aren't silver but are gold,
Have you come to turn us cold?)

Decade and a half ago,
The world still fresh and new,
Good and kind. Air - not what we choked on
Your ray of light flickered
In my careless recollection
Of course, that was once upon a time.

When volumes of infusion is the blood in your veins,
And scenes change day by day, curtains drawn,
You are at the end of the line, spent, and you're
Holding up yours hands in the air, no defiance.
There is sadness in your eyes, even when you smile
"The war is not won." I said.

Bitter taste of medicine
Lingers like diseases on your tongue.
"To be or not to be"
Is a statement, not
A question, not a
Matter of choice.

Excruciation, or maybe hell, in the purest form
Perpetual realization of pain
Of the crystal mind in storm,
Peeling the psyche of it, driving it off to the edge.
But do people still go to hell
When their lives are sheer suffering
Through and through?

The masters with whip in hand
Shall ring it like a bell.
On the slave's bloodied flesh,
It chimes and echoes
and sings softly,
into the free winds:

Shame,
Shame,
Shame.

Master made a tax collector out of me,
Graced me with the scent of gold,
Fresh and stale and warm and cold.

The masses warned me for my fate to be
"The Forth Circle awaits, behold!"
In hushed whispers I was told.

But a poor, blind man now I cannot see
The price upon my head sold,
One more soul to collection old.