Through each situation,
You’re a new person, conformist.
Body like a snake,
The serpent himself
See him? Contorting, twisting, fitting.
He’s the Man of the hour.
Dripping like solid gold, are his words.
The “audience” stands captivated.
Almost frozen, I’ve lost my tongue.
Unable to speak, I’m no match
- For you.
Trickster drizzle peters,
Expectant trees are mawkish;
Rain’s failed sweet promise!
I climbed over the garden wall
Into the rich court and down the hall
Before I lived in poverty
Know I see how to live properly
By taking others property
And now there is nothing stopping me
See I told the rich
That humble and poor, was good!
And bad was having more than you should.
I laughed myself into a stitch.
And they left their house so quick!
Did I learn lies are the best teacher?
Or never trust a preacher?
Either way, I showed them all
Because I climbed over the garden wall
Morality is pretty tricky. It seems like we constantly redefine it based on all kinds of arbitrary things and yet we are always expected to up hold the highest moral value. How I am suppose to know what is right and wrong much less be a good person. Then again I am a writer so I must be a sociopath!
I dilute the psychosis in a jar, pour it up the drain of insanity's shop and pile them up in mania's bar
****** leaked through the rail, bleeding faces paint him red
He beat his wife with a deranged face, they found her with a baby dead
You come a little closer, close your eyes, look into my cackling mind
I see legs and **** faces, stare in the mirror
You're so ******* jaded
A binge goes by with the addition at your paces in a still position waiting on another ticket, ******* wisdom, ******* visions, ******* liver, spleen, ideal
Can You Spare a pain pill
for another elevator while I'm raising
But I know something that you don't though
He really was the devil, a devil in disguise.
He treated me like the queen I longed to be,
He had these brown, shadowed eyes.
They held some sort of affection, it seemed only for me,
But underneath that darling smile there was no soul to see.
The gateway was open, for what seemed like forever ago.
Something had happened, to his once beautiful soul.
Lucifer loved; he loved, and he lost.
He loved so much his soul it would cost.
His wings were torn, he cried, he fell.
The devil before me, didn't love me I could tell.
A trickster he was, the fool he made me out to be.
He cast me out as he once was, alone for eternity.
I have a Raven in my life,
It follows me just out of sight.
I catch its presence now and then,
I glimpse its flight, its hovering.
I am aware the Raven's meaning,
Its raison d'etre in life's scheming,
But what of its intelligence?
The Raven is a puzzlement.
The Celtic bird of mystery,
The Nordic seer of prophecy,
The guardian of Royalty,
A culprit of great trickery,
In all of this behaviour
As Joker, Thief and Saviour
Who put him there inside our minds?
Why let him follow close behind?
The Raven is ourselves of course
Our lighter mood, our darker force.
To understand we must give in
And sometimes let the Raven win.
His randomness can make us fools
His certainty can help us lose
But in all these times he is Us
And we should let him ***** it up.
The Raven is our twin in life
To make us wrong or make us right.
The thing we should remember is
Raven takes just as Raven gives.
I love the Raven archetypes in human history and our stories. It has a richness and prevalence hard to account for across so many cultures. I see him as more personal than mere archetype however.
There is a certain devil in my eyes
a twinkling trickster who despises
all pomp and proper posers who lie
to gain the affection of the less informed.
There is a puckish knave who raves
to undue the chains of those enslaved
by creative play and poetry
by active explorations of prose and nobility.
I know such endeavors are things of futility
for if they knew my form of Anansi
silk spinning spider
or my formidable four legged figure of coyote
who runs under the Nordic name of Loki,
I am certain they would try to lightning fry me.
Instead, I buy some time masking my mind
tapping out binary bridges of ones and zeroes
with mythic folk and fairytales to educate
my elves who have lost
their pointed ears and no longer hear
the sound of nature’s truth
concealed in their very flesh.
Everything in life is unexpected even when planned.
Like gambling trying to gain what you lost.
Time ticks forwards even when you want to go back.
When you turn on a light another one flickers off.
A life is spared when another one dies.
When the Cheshire cat cries, and the white rabbit is on time,
Only then can you tell me that the trickster is telling no lies.
— The End —