It’s funny
How pleasantly unaware you are
Of where I stand or where I sit or what I say in passing.
Meaningful to me, oh yes, and perfectly planned-each step.
Yet all is so easily glossed over by your obliviousness.
I cannot just exist as I am any longer though, and so
I will make a proposal. To whom I am unsure.
Let’s say I was to suddenly grasp your hand.
Shout instead of whisper.
Take you somewhere you have never been.
All the way to top of this tower so we could gaze out at the night’s vision.
And I’d hold you as it’s cold and windy,
Stare out at the busy city,
Share with you my favorite thing to do.
To imagine this very scene right here
Of us watching
The lights and people’s parties. And the buildings, like arrows to ambition.
So few appreciate the skyline before us now.
And how at once I fathom isolation, just you and me in a private corner.
The air darkens around us so that all I can see is you.
And how I’d soon rather lose my sight than forgo having known you,
Our experiences, however small.
Then could we be together?

My task requires self-sacrifice
The capturing of souls
Weaving bonds between the wicked
Who’ve been forgiven of the old
I target those without a shield
Oblivious to war
Then I roar into their face
“Get up and draw your sword!”
Yet I accept no reward
To do this work I am unfit
Designed with pride, impure, it’s plain
My failure is infinite
For I am weak, and loved the world
Before my dreams were bent
But I signed a contract in my heart
To imitate ascent
In view of mercy, in view of faith
I’m leading dozens day by day

My task requires self-sacrifice
The capturing of souls
I slither in between the wicked
From whom virtue I already stole
My target is set on those protected
Pecking at the eyes
Then I whisper soft into their ears
A myriad of lies
Yet I am a never-ending sigh
My deeds filled with deep regret
Designed to long to love the Lord
Instead a demon’s pet
I need rescue, I want repent
And seek to find some rest
But I signed a contract long ago
Which chains me to the depths
In view of fire, in view of fear
I enslave thousands year by year

In the moment just before wake,
The last fragment of a dream eludes my grasp.
As I cannot distinguish thought from memory,
I am astounded that my imagination could conjure such bliss.
If only at will…

Not every night, but some,
I see what I am capable of.
Mind at ease and running free,
Latching on to these ideas
That exceed my perception.
And my attempts to recall or review,
Are but failed attempts, futile.
Deemed too beautiful for consciousness,
But from what I can remember-

I fight, I play,
I sight, I run from beasts.
I find, I make,
I lose, I have the world.
I live, I breathe,
I meet, I die sweet deaths.
I fly, I kiss,
I smile, I love it all.

The fluidity of instances, the current of time,
No-these do not exist in my mind.
Or are rather transcended,
Bent, broken, then mended.
Allowed in my altered state
To transform and create
A world where everything is designed to please me,
While, simultaneously, my fears run free.
Ah, but not too much to handle.
I have fragments, puzzle pieces, crumbs…so little.

Oh sleeping self! I beseech you
Spring alive and come and teach me
All the wonders you have known,
But sadly do always withhold.
Revise my mind, what poor creation.
Have mercy on my indignation.

Am I really to believe
That you are so wiser than me?
Smiling, sleeping beauty, I
Foresee the dangers of the eyes.
Masterfully handicap
My body to this nightly trap.
Thus looming possibilities
Of habitual retreats,
Delights in excess to relieve
Me of my duty to receive
Signals from reality,
Abundant sensory deceit,
Of forlorn mental interactions,
Of achieving distant affectations,
Obtaining hopes and admirations,
Beholding nonsensical perfection,
All this, too more, are so designed
That my mind can never wholly dine
On the enticingly addictive
Highly imaginative symptoms
Of the body’s hidden fluid source
That rarely tends to make its course.
But holds great power menacing,
As well as gently flowering.  

I envy you, my resting mind,
My well worthy unconsciousness,
Whose power is tempted unconstricted,
Whose fascination’s limitless.
Who teases me, a window shop,
An ocean reduced to a drop.
The very inkling I most relish;
Waking memory’s a feather precious.
Delicate and dancing ‘round,
High hopes, in journey, treasure bound.

My words are a beauty veiled, a blurred reflection, and a note
Of bleeding ink.
A shot fired, but since you blinked,
You don’t know where it’s headed
Or what to think.
I paint a picture solely of the eyes, dashing after corners, and grasping
At a wispy soul.
Attempt to harness its potential though,
I must grapple and spar;
An often failing goal.
Yet when I do succeed, it’s always at a distance. Secrets pause
And willingly surrender.
For it’s a gift of mine, or a spell I’m under,
And the idea is received well,
But torn asunder.
Thus, my words are a muffled tune, a lovely stopped clock, and a
Full half-moon.