"aion" poems
The depictions of
the gods are headless.
The pillars have crumbled.
The spirit has atrophied
and the wonder has gone.
No longer for Dionysus,
a temple to Aion.
Profaned by order and rule,
rigidity takes the place of passion.
In the name of culture,
the wealthy get wealthier.
No longer for Dionysus,
a temple to Plutus.
Blind to what is before them,
passerby’s idolize themselves.
The ancient amphitheater;
a backdrop for plastic portraits.
No longer for Dionysus,
a temple to Narcissus.
Power shifts in the modern age.
Worship changes form.
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 3:58 PM UTC
In the mist of the morning
I lose my way
Through the haze and the fog
I must find a way
Dutiful and progress are my lock and key
The day wears on
My soul wears thin
My shadow I cast is long and proud
Am i the only one
Who is happy to be alive
I'm driven by no purpose
No sense of self release
My language i speak
Is that of the murdered
the meager and the weak
The universe in infinite
our lives are so very short
to live a full life
on this plane we call earth
Feb 18, 2010
Feb 18, 2010 at 5:06 AM UTC
If I had to run to rewrite retro poems adhoc of chosen trova, of timid Trojan verse, I dare today if I kissed her in front of me ..., She! I would jump from the sky-hyperesthetic…, inhuman to the world Aion celestine aurora, bleed your star In large and challenging today In itself She…, fetid condemnation sweetness aura in between her… just be, same be, sustained…, Oh… Goddess Hestia against your broken leg arm, meadow and braid vein ..., attacked by lost and thirsty love all tempts written ..., everything wields darkly if I take you to our Olympus ... at night loving you whole ..., emptying everything with no other hand singing The split strain entails company, that exterminated be ... love was nailed to a stake ..., I hurt to nail ..., stakes hurting ... I am exhausted above your lips, above yours ... sword…, cyclamen balm made whole if I had you!
To the loves of the world I say ..., cover your ears fungus of weariness, your torn ears squander more than sordid to say ... my blood kills, my blood revives! I **** my blood and I **** everyone, with your scattered blood, strewn ***** blood ... ? Do not leave me alone until nightfall ... I only ask for holy water, emptied from your mouth Goddess Hestia that flies tons over me ... I only ask for a sharp, ****** and scattered romantic blood sword ... To write to the wars of love that I have lost ...
the wars of love that I have won… ”
Jul 26, 2020
Jul 26, 2020 at 3:13 PM UTC