the maelstrom swirling pulls me under and I am weak - current strong and waters deep beckon me to eternal sleep - yet i awake each day for one more try and only the gods can say if i live or die - but live i must 'ere i miss my chance to with the desire of my heart some day to dance

You have gone - like the cool breeze in more temperate times.

I thirst with the depth of a desert,
     wide and exposed to the sun a thousand years. 
Parched, barren, with no flower of love, no water of life.

My hunger gnaws at the ribs of my soul as I contemplate a life
     devoid of your kiss, 
The taste of you on my lips, like nectar, 
To bless a feast for the gods themselves.

Promethean curse, chained to this desire by day 
Life plucked from my bones by the desolation of my soul! 
At night to burn for your touch, your caress, your life-giving love; 
My flesh restored by the dream only to be pierced by the dawn's light
     as I hear the harpy's cry.

But still, I have hope, 
That the one truth we hold dear even life's only hope, 
May collect our souls and our love thrive. 

Charon's dark curse be broken, and,
In passion fueled by hearts that as one buoy us up, ever up!

To that pinnacle so sweet until over we fall
     into each other's arms - fast asleep!

Wounded.  Staring at the gaping hole - shock.
This was not supposed to be that fight, those rounds - from where?

Laughter I hear, carefree cackles of one who never knew
Responsibility, dues and costs, penalties dear.  For whim to be entertained
not wise enough to realize entertained is enslaved.

I hear voices calling my name, telling me to hold on, this wasn't my fault
It was - is.  I chose to think myself wiser, trusting my judgement
Foolish. Now, dying.

I can feel my heartbeat increasing.  I know, less to move it must go faster
thermodynamics even in death must be satisfied.  Why in life we are not all bound by such an equalizer - I'll now never know.

I had a foot, legs - no longer felt yet there. Toes protruding from worn sock. 
All I feel is the burning of the phosphor.

She laughs still, thinking in life her vict'ry but nay, her laughter betrays her
Uncertain, alone, thinking she is in control when truth revealing, 
She controls nothing.

Take what you will and can little idiot. Foolish jester of the court of your own mind.
Be certain in your own supremacy for therein your demise.
And, I smile knowing that if is I who'll laugh at last. As into final slumber I slip
A caress from my Princess, my blade ****** deep into the enemy
And I sleep. No more voices, no laughter, yet I see the amazement

Faces before contorted in mocking humiliation, now stare in disbelief

Reality has hit.
Death alone liberates but man's soul, Christ, his spirit takes.

At last I kneel before my Princess, her hand upon worn pommel upon mine,
Fuller stain'd with the conquered blood, point to foible worn dull from the slash
Her hand brushes the scarred worn face

Eye to eye, though still on my knee I sleep - and breathe my last 
        Her kiss upon my lips unto eternal sleep until called forth again I rise
            To raise my sword again and ****** against the horde unleashed as blood cold
        Runs like river deep in Spring thaw o'erflowing banks from a far land 
laughter cackling on the shore and my curse endure again bared

Poor lost and wicked child.
Your victory my death
My death, your defeat.

For I shall live on forever and your dreams haunt as surely as if I were there
E'en though you deny it

My Princess stands protected again, with raised sword and shield, enveloped by my wing
My breath from her I draw - sweet like honey's kiss - and I sleep in eternal bliss.

Sometimes we rant and rave here for no real value other than the release we think it grants,
A release as real as the ****** everyone seeks.
There is no release in this ether any longer, the words captured and dissected for all to consider, left us limp and wasted - unfulfilled.

The facade created for legalistic cause, show your lifestyle to be rich and full,
all it was is empty halls and vacant thoughts. Desires unfulfilled from the first, your facade.

Breakfast, lunch and dinner on the hoof!
Parties and settings to raise the roof,
False invitation and another deceit
Open the crypt of your own design.

Lay in the linens your deceit bought - rest your head on the silken pillow,
The door closes one last time
And the blade is raised.
Darkly - Kidron flows to its end
Temple on one bank, mount on the other
Dark with the blood of sacrifice
Gethsemane calling.

Shh, hush my love let your heart be calm, your troubles lay at my door, 
I'll pick them up and carry them a while and let you dream once more. 
Close your eyes my blessed one, rest your troubled soul, for the morrow comes 'ere we know and I am bound for Sheol. 

I'll need your strength, and your sweet caress, your love and hope and smile. 
So rest your troubled heaving breast, and let me walk this mile.

You've tarried long in this task assumed blithely to be your labor, 
Unknown to most a burden such they'd not carry for life nor favor, 
Yet stand I ready to assume the task, at least to help yield the Axe, and, 
Send those tormenting souls to Perdition's shore.

I'll need your strength, and your sweet caress, your love and hope and smile. 
So rest your troubled vacant breast, and let me walk this mile.

Like rivers deep with hidden tides, currents of pain and woe, flow on in life and bring new strife for those who do not know.
Yet in their midst we walk aside the filthy and fetid sots
who spew forth words without a clue why on the floor see dark spots.
Yes our blood runs hot coursing through our veins, our fists like Gordian knots
                       (a stab a slice, the pain focuses -  feels nice).

I'll need your strength, and your sweet caress, your love and hope and smile. 
So rest your troubled wounded breast, and let me walk this mile.

We raise our arm, Claymores held high, as if to claim our right - but yet, it is for naught,
For our lives once thought to our own are wrought as though they're one. 
And though we're tossed into the night that brings a chill unto the soul,
We sing our song of hope and praise like Silas, Paul, of old -
      and watch;
As shackles cold as the hearts of men - fall like dust onto the dung below.

I'll need your strength, and your sweet caress, your love and hope and smile. 
So rest your troubled wearied breast, and let me walk this mile.

We rise from ashes like that gilded bird aflame with an heavenly fire
and surrounded by a host of wings, lay down our swords of ire.
For peace, like dew from the God above is sent to quench our thirst,
a word is given that fills our souls as if they could burst!
Yea love unfettered, unbound and unknown - for us and all who hear. 
Love, given freely now, peace...no more tears.

Yes, I need your strength, your sweet caress, your love and hope and smile. 
Now rest, my love, your nurturing breast, and let me walk this mile.


*All rights reserved-Copyright 2014 Gerald T. Hollingsworth