Ye learnèd sisters, which have oftentimes
Beene to me ayding, others to adorne,
Whom ye thought worthy of your gracefull rymes,
That even the greatest did not greatly scorne
To heare theyr names sung in your simple layes,
But joyèd in theyr praise;
And when ye list your owne mishaps to mourne,
Which death, or love, or fortunes wreck did rayse,
Your string could soone to sadder tenor turne,
And teach the woods and waters to lament
Your dolefull dreriment:
Now lay those sorrowfull complaints aside;
And, having all your heads with girlands crownd,
Helpe me mine owne loves prayses to resound;
Ne let the same of any be envide:
So Orpheus did for his owne bride!
So I unto my selfe alone will sing;
The woods shall to me answer, and my Eccho ring.

Early, before the worlds light-giving lampe
His golden beame upon the hils doth spred,
Having disperst the nights unchearefull dampe,
Doe ye awake; and, with fresh *****-hed,
Go to the bowre of my belovèd love,
My truest turtle dove;
Bid her awake; for ***** is awake,
And long since ready forth his maske to move,
With his bright Tead that flames with many a flake,
And many a bachelor to waite on him,
In theyr fresh garments trim.
Bid her awake therefore, and soone her dight,
For lo! the wishèd day is come at last,
That shall, for all the paynes and sorrowes past,
Pay to her usury of long delight:
And, whylest she doth her dight,
Doe ye to her of joy and solace sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring.

Bring with you all the Nymphes that you can heare
Both of the rivers and the forrests greene,
And of the sea that neighbours to her neare:
Al with gay girlands goodly wel beseene.
And let them also with them bring in hand
Another gay girland
For my fayre love, of lillyes and of roses,
Bound truelove wize, with a blew silke riband.
And let them make great store of bridale poses,
And let them eeke bring store of other flowers,
To deck the bridale bowers.
And let the ground whereas her foot shall tread,
For feare the stones her tender foot should wrong,
Be strewed with fragrant flowers all along,
And diapred lyke the discolored mead.
Which done, doe at her chamber dore awayt,
For she will waken strayt;
The whiles doe ye this song unto her sing,
The woods shall to you answer, and your Eccho ring.

Ye Nymphes of Mulla, which with carefull heed
The silver scaly trouts doe tend full well,
And greedy pikes which use therein to feed;
(Those trouts and pikes all others doo excell;)
And ye likewise, which keepe the rushy lake,
Where none doo fishes take;
Bynd up the locks the which hang scatterd light,
And in his waters, which your mirror make,
Behold your faces as the christall bright,
That when you come whereas my love doth lie,
No blemish she may spie.
And eke, ye lightfoot mayds, which keepe the deere,
That on the hoary mountayne used to towre;
And the wylde wolves, which seeke them to devoure,
With your steele darts doo chace from comming neer;
Be also present heere,
To helpe to decke her, and to help to sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring.

Wake now, my love, awake! for it is time;
The Rosy Morne long since left Tithones bed,
All ready to her silver coche to clyme;
And Phoebus gins to shew his glorious hed.
Hark! how the cheerefull birds do chaunt theyr laies
And carroll of Loves praise.
The merry Larke hir mattins sings aloft;
The Thrush replyes; the Mavis descant playes;
The Ouzell shrills; the Ruddock warbles soft;
So goodly all agree, with sweet consent,
To this dayes merriment.
Ah! my deere love, why doe ye sleepe thus long?
When meeter were that ye should now awake,
T’ awayt the comming of your joyous make,
And hearken to the birds love-learnèd song,
The deawy leaves among!
Nor they of joy and pleasance to you sing,
That all the woods them answer, and theyr eccho ring.

My love is now awake out of her dreames,
And her fayre eyes, like stars that dimmèd were
With darksome cloud, now shew theyr goodly beams
More bright then Hesperus his head doth rere.
Come now, ye damzels, daughters of delight,
Helpe quickly her to dight:
But first come ye fayre houres, which were begot
In Joves sweet paradice of Day and Night;
Which doe the seasons of the yeare allot,
And al, that ever in this world is fayre,
Doe make and still repayre:
And ye three handmayds of the Cyprian Queene,
The which doe still adorne her beauties pride,
Helpe to addorne my beautifullest bride:
And, as ye her array, still throw betweene
Some graces to be seene;
And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing,
The whiles the woods shal answer, and your eccho ring.

Now is my love all ready forth to come:
Let all the virgins therefore well awayt:
And ye fresh boyes, that tend upon her groome,
Prepare your selves; for he is comming strayt.
Set all your things in seemely good aray,
Fit for so joyfull day:
The joyfulst day that ever sunne did see.
Faire Sun! shew forth thy favourable ray,
And let thy lifull heat not fervent be,
For feare of burning her sunshyny face,
Her beauty to disgrace.
O fayrest Phoebus! father of the Muse!
If ever I did honour thee aright,
Or sing the thing that mote thy mind delight,
Doe not thy servants simple boone refuse;
But let this day, let this one day, be myne;
Let all the rest be thine.
Then I thy soverayne prayses loud wil sing,
That all the woods shal answer, and theyr eccho ring.

Harke! how the Minstrils gin to shrill aloud
Their merry Musick that resounds from far,
The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling Croud,
That well agree withouten breach or jar.
But, most of all, the Damzels doe delite
When they their tymbrels smyte,
And thereunto doe daunce and carrol sweet,
That all the sences they doe ravish quite;
The whyles the boyes run up and downe the street,
Crying aloud with strong confusèd noyce,
As if it were one voyce,
*****, iö *****, *****, they do shout;
That even to the heavens theyr shouting shrill
Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill;
To which the people standing all about,
As in approvance, doe thereto applaud,
And loud advaunce her laud;
And evermore they *****, ***** sing,
That al the woods them answer, and theyr eccho ring.

Loe! where she comes along with portly pace,
Lyke Phoebe, from her chamber of the East,
Arysing forth to run her mighty race,
Clad all in white, that seemes a ****** best.
So well it her beseemes, that ye would weene
Some angell she had beene.
Her long loose yellow locks lyke golden wyre,
Sprinckled with perle, and perling flowres atweene,
Doe lyke a golden mantle her attyre;
And, being crownèd with a girland greene,
Seeme lyke some mayden Queene.
Her modest eyes, abashèd to behold
So many gazers as on her do stare,
Upon the lowly ground affixèd are;
Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold,
But blush to heare her prayses sung so loud,
So farre from being proud.
Nathlesse doe ye still loud her prayses sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring.

Tell me, ye merchants daughters, did ye see
So fayre a creature in your towne before;
So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she,
Adornd with beautyes grace and vertues store?
Her goodly eyes lyke Saphyres shining bright,
Her forehead yvory white,
Her cheekes lyke apples which the sun hath rudded,
Her lips lyke cherryes charming men to byte,
Her brest like to a bowle of creame uncrudded,
Her paps lyke lyllies budded,
Her snowie necke lyke to a marble towre;
And all her body like a pallace fayre,
Ascending up, with many a stately stayre,
To honors seat and chastities sweet bowre.
Why stand ye still ye virgins in amaze,
Upon her so to gaze,
Whiles ye forget your former lay to sing,
To which the woods did answer, and your eccho ring?

But if ye saw that which no eyes can see,
The inward beauty of her lively spright,
Garnisht with heavenly guifts of high degree,
Much more then would ye wonder at that sight,
And stand astonisht lyke to those which red
Medusaes mazeful hed.
There dwels sweet love, and constant chastity,
Unspotted fayth, and comely womanhood,
Regard of honour, and mild modesty;
There vertue raynes as Queene in royal throne,
And giveth lawes alone,
The which the base affections doe obay,
And yeeld theyr services unto her will;
Ne thought of thing uncomely ever may
Thereto approch to tempt her mind to ill.
Had ye once seene these her celestial threasures,
And unrevealèd pleasures,
Then would ye wonder, and her prayses sing,
That al the woods should answer, and your echo ring.

Open the temple gates unto my love,
Open them wide that she may enter in,
And all the postes adorne as doth behove,
And all the pillours deck with girlands trim,
For to receyve this Saynt with honour dew,
That commeth in to you.
With trembling steps, and humble reverence,
She commeth in, before th’ Almighties view;
Of her ye virgins learne obedience,
When so ye come into those holy places,
To humble your proud faces:
Bring her up to th’ high altar, that she may
The sacred ceremonies there partake,
The which do endlesse matrimony make;
And let the roring Organs loudly play
The praises of the Lord in lively notes;
The whiles, with hollow throates,
The Choristers the joyous Antheme sing,
That al the woods may answere, and their eccho ring.

Behold, whiles she before the altar stands,
Hearing the holy priest that to her speakes,
And blesseth her with his two happy hands,
How the red roses flush up in her cheekes,
And the pure snow, with goodly vermill stayne
Like crimsin dyde in grayne:
That even th’ Angels, which continually
About the sacred Altare doe remaine,
Forget their service and about her fly,
Ofte peeping in her face, that seems more fayre,
The more they on it stare.
But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground,
Are governèd with goodly modesty,
That suffers not one looke to glaunce awry,
Which may let in a little thought unsownd.
Why blush ye, love, to give to me your hand,
The pledge of all our band!
Sing, ye sweet Angels, Alleluya sing,
That all the woods may answere, and your eccho ring.

Now al is done: bring home the bride againe;
Bring home the triumph of our victory:
Bring home with you the glory of her gaine;
With joyance bring her and with jollity.
Never had man more joyfull day then this,
Whom heaven would heape with blis,
Make feast therefore now all this live-long day;
This day for ever to me holy is.
Poure out the wine without restraint or stay,
Poure not by cups, but by the belly full,
Poure out to all that wull,
And sprinkle all the postes and wals with wine,
That they may sweat, and drunken be withall.
Crowne ye God Bacchus with a coronall,
And ***** also crowne with wreathes of vine;
And let the Graces daunce unto the rest,
For they can doo it best:
The whiles the maydens doe theyr carroll sing,
To which the woods shall answer, and theyr eccho ring.

Ring ye the bels, ye yong men of the towne,
And leave your wonted labors for this day:
This day is holy; doe ye write it downe,
That ye for ever it remember may.
This day the sunne is in his chiefest hight,
With Barnaby the bright,
From whence declining daily by degrees,
He somewhat loseth of his heat and light,
When once the Crab behind his back he sees.
But for this time it ill ordainèd was,
To chose the longest day in all the yeare,
And shortest night, when longest fitter weare:
Yet never day so long, but late would passe.
Ring ye the bels, to make it weare away,
And bonefiers make all day;
And daunce about them, and about them sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring.

Ah! when will this long weary day have end,
And lende me leave to come unto my love?
How slowly do the houres theyr numbers spend?
How slowly does sad Time his feathers move?
Hast thee, O fayrest Planet, to thy home,
Within the Westerne fome:
Thy tyrèd steedes long since have need of rest.
Long though it be, at last I see it gloome,
And the bright evening-star with golden creast
Appeare out of the East.
Fayre childe of beauty! glorious lampe of love!
That all the host of heaven in rankes doost lead,
And guydest lovers through the nights sad dread,
How chearefully thou lookest from above,
And seemst to laugh atweene thy twinkling light,
As joying in the sight
Of these glad many, which for joy doe sing,
That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring!

Now ceasse, ye damsels, your delights fore-past;
Enough it is that all the day was youres:
Now day is doen, and night is nighing fast,
Now bring the Bryde into the brydall boures.
The night is come, now soon her disaray,
And in her bed her lay;
Lay her in lillies and in violets,
And silken courteins over her display,
And odourd sheetes, and Arras coverlets.
Behold how goodly my faire love does ly,
In proud humility!
Like unto Maia, when as Jove her took
In Tempe, lying on the flowry gras,
Twixt sleepe and wake, after she weary was,
With bathing in the Acidalian brooke.
Now it is night, ye damsels may be gon,
And leave my love alone,
And leave likewise your former lay to sing:
The woods no more shall answere, nor your echo ring.

Now welcome, night! thou night so long expected,
That long daies labour doest at last defray,
And all my cares, which cruell Love collected,
Hast sumd in one, and cancellèd for aye:
Spread thy broad wing over my love and me,
That no man may us see;
And in thy sable mantle us enwrap,
From feare of perrill and foule horror free.
Let no false treason seeke us to entrap,
Nor any dread disquiet once annoy
The safety of our joy;
But let the night be calme, and quietsome,
Without tempestuous storms or sad afray:
Lyke as when Jove with fayre Alcmena lay,
When he begot the great Tirynthian groome:
Or lyke as when he with thy selfe did lie
And begot Majesty.
And let the mayds and yong men cease to sing;
Ne let the woods them answer nor theyr eccho ring.

Let no lamenting cryes, nor dolefull teares,
Be heard all night within, nor yet without:
Ne let false whispers, breeding hidden feares,
Breake gentle sleepe with misconceivèd dout.
Let no deluding dreames, nor dreadfull sights,
Make sudden sad affrights;
Ne let house-fyres, nor lightnings helpelesse harmes,
Ne let the Pouke, nor other evill sprights,
Ne let mischivous witches with theyr charmes,
Ne let hob Goblins, names whose sence we see not,
Fray us with things that be not:
Let not the shriech Oule nor the Storke be heard,
Nor the night Raven, that still deadly yels;
Nor damnèd ghosts, cald up with mighty spels,
Nor griesly vultures, make us once affeard:
Ne let th’ unpleasant Quyre of Frogs still croking
Make us to wish theyr choking.
Let none of these theyr drery accents sing;
Ne let the woods them answer, nor theyr eccho ring.

But let stil Silence trew night-watches keepe,
That sacred Peace may in assurance rayne,
And tymely Sleep, when it is tyme to sleepe,
May poure his limbs forth on your pleasant playne;
The whiles an hundred little wingèd loves,
Like divers-fethered doves,
Shall fly and flutter round about your bed,
And in the secret darke, that none reproves,
Their prety stealthes shal worke, and snares shal spread
To filch away sweet snatches of delight,
Conceald through covert night.
Ye sonnes of Venus, play your sports at will!
For greedy pleasure, carelesse of your toyes,
Thinks more upon her paradise of joyes,
Then what ye do, albe it good or ill.
All night therefore attend your merry play,
For it will soone be day:
Now none doth hinder you, that say or sing;
Ne will the woods now answer, nor your Eccho ring.

Who is the same, which at my window peepes?
Or whose is that faire face that shines so bright?
Is it not Cinthia, she that never sleepes,
But walkes about high heaven al the night?
O! fayrest goddesse, do thou not envy
My love with me to spy:
For thou likewise didst love, though now unthought,
And for a fleece of wooll, which privily
The Latmian shepherd once unto thee brought,
His pleasures with thee wrought.
Therefore to us be favorable now;
And sith of wemens labours thou hast charge,
And generation goodly dost enlarge,
Encline thy will t’effect our wishfull vow,
And the chast wombe informe with timely seed
That may our comfort breed:
Till which we cease our hopefull hap to sing;
Ne let the woods us answere, nor our Eccho ring.

And thou, great Juno! which with awful might
The lawes of wedlock still dost patronize;
And the religion of the faith first plight
With sacred rites hast taught to solemnize;
And eeke for comfort often callèd art
Of women in their smart;
Eternally bind thou this lovely band,
And all thy blessings unto us impart.
And thou, glad

THE PROLOGUE.

Our Hoste saw well that the brighte sun
Th' arc of his artificial day had run
The fourthe part, and half an houre more;
And, though he were not deep expert in lore,
He wist it was the eight-and-twenty day
Of April, that is messenger to May;
And saw well that the shadow of every tree
Was in its length of the same quantity
That was the body ***** that caused it;
And therefore by the shadow he took his wit,                 *knowledge
That Phoebus, which that shone so clear and bright,
Degrees was five-and-forty clomb on height;
And for that day, as in that latitude,
It was ten of the clock, he gan conclude;
And suddenly he plight his horse about.                     pulled

"Lordings," quoth he, "I warn you all this rout,               company
The fourthe partie of this day is gone.
Now for the love of God and of Saint John
Lose no time, as farforth as ye may.
Lordings, the time wasteth night and day,
And steals from us, what privily sleeping,
And what through negligence in our waking,
As doth the stream, that turneth never again,
Descending from the mountain to the plain.
Well might Senec, and many a philosopher,
Bewaile time more than gold in coffer.
For loss of chattels may recover'd be,
But loss of time shendeth us, quoth he.                       destroys

It will not come again, withoute dread,
No more than will Malkin's maidenhead,
When she hath lost it in her wantonness.
Let us not moulde thus in idleness.
"Sir Man of Law," quoth he, "so have ye bliss,
Tell us a tale anon, as forword* is.                        the bargain
Ye be submitted through your free assent
To stand in this case at my judgement.
Acquit you now, and *holde your behest;             keep your promise
Then have ye done your devoir* at the least."                      duty
"Hoste," quoth he, "de par dieux jeo asente;
To breake forword is not mine intent.
Behest is debt, and I would hold it fain,
All my behest; I can no better sayn.
For such law as a man gives another wight,
He should himselfe usen it by right.
Thus will our text: but natheless certain
I can right now no thrifty tale sayn,                           worthy
But Chaucer (though he *can but lewedly         knows but imperfectly
On metres and on rhyming craftily)
Hath said them, in such English as he can,
Of olde time, as knoweth many a man.
And if he have not said them, leve* brother,                       dear
In one book, he hath said them in another
For he hath told of lovers up and down,
More than Ovide made of mentioun
In his Epistolae, that be full old.
Why should I telle them, since they he told?
In youth he made of Ceyx and Alcyon,
And since then he hath spoke of every one
These noble wives, and these lovers eke.
Whoso that will his large volume seek
Called the Saintes' Legend of Cupid:
There may he see the large woundes wide
Of Lucrece, and of Babylon Thisbe;
The sword of Dido for the false Enee;
The tree of Phillis for her Demophon;
The plaint of Diane, and of Hermion,
Of Ariadne, and Hypsipile;
The barren isle standing in the sea;
The drown'd Leander for his fair Hero;
The teares of Helene, and eke the woe
Of Briseis, and Laodamia;
The cruelty of thee, Queen Medea,
Thy little children hanging by the halse,                         neck
For thy Jason, that was of love so false.
Hypermnestra, Penelop', Alcest',
Your wifehood he commendeth with the best.
But certainly no worde writeth he
Of *thilke wick' example of Canace,                       that wicked
That loved her own brother sinfully;
(Of all such cursed stories I say, Fy),
Or else of Tyrius Apollonius,
How that the cursed king Antiochus
Bereft his daughter of her maidenhead;
That is so horrible a tale to read,
When he her threw upon the pavement.
And therefore he, of full avisement,         deliberately, advisedly
Would never write in none of his sermons
Of such unkind* abominations;                                 unnatural
Nor I will none rehearse, if that I may.
But of my tale how shall I do this day?
Me were loth to be liken'd doubteless
To Muses, that men call Pierides
(Metamorphoseos  wot what I mean),
But natheless I recke not a bean,
Though I come after him with hawebake;                        lout
I speak in prose, and let him rhymes make."
And with that word, he with a sober cheer
Began his tale, and said as ye shall hear.

Notes to the Prologue to The Man of Law's Tale

1. Plight: pulled; the word is an obsolete past tense from
"pluck."

2. No more than will Malkin's maidenhead: a proverbial saying;
which, however, had obtained fresh point from the Reeve's
Tale, to which the host doubtless refers.

3. De par dieux jeo asente: "by God, I agree".  It is
characteristic that the somewhat pompous Sergeant of Law
should couch his assent in the semi-barbarous French, then
familiar in law procedure.

4. Ceyx and Alcyon: Chaucer treats of these in the introduction
to the poem called "The Book of the Duchess."  It relates to the
death of Blanche, wife of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, the
poet's patron, and afterwards his connexion by marriage.

5. The Saintes Legend of Cupid: Now called "The Legend of
Good Women". The names of eight ladies mentioned here are
not in the "Legend" as it has come down to us; while those of
two ladies in the "legend" -- Cleopatra and Philomela -- are her
omitted.

6. Not the Muses, who had their surname from the place near
Mount Olympus where the Thracians first worshipped them; but
the nine daughters of Pierus, king of Macedonia, whom he
called the nine Muses, and who, being conquered in a contest
with the genuine sisterhood, were changed into birds.

7. Metamorphoseos:  Ovid's.

8. Hawebake: hawbuck, country lout; the common proverbial
phrase, "to put a rogue above a gentleman," may throw light on
the reading here, which is difficult.

THE TALE.

O scatheful harm, condition of poverty,
With thirst, with cold, with hunger so confounded;
To aske help thee shameth in thine hearte;
If thou none ask, so sore art thou y-wounded,
That very need unwrappeth all thy wound hid.
Maugre thine head thou must for indigence
Or steal, or beg, or borrow thy dispence.                      expense

Thou blamest Christ, and sayst full bitterly,
He misdeparteth riches temporal;                          allots amiss
Thy neighebour thou witest sinfully,                           blamest
And sayst, thou hast too little, and he hath all:
"Parfay (sayst thou) sometime he reckon shall,
When that his tail shall *brennen in the glede,      burn in the fire
For he not help'd the needful in their need."

Hearken what is the sentence of the wise:
Better to die than to have indigence.
Thy selve neighebour will thee despise,                    that same
If thou be poor, farewell thy reverence.
Yet of the wise man take this sentence,
Alle the days of poore men be wick',                      wicked, evil
Beware therefore ere thou come to that *****.                    point

If thou be poor, thy brother hateth thee,
And all thy friendes flee from thee, alas!
O riche merchants, full of wealth be ye,
O noble, prudent folk, as in this case,
Your bagges be not fill'd with ambes ace,                   two aces
But with six-cinque, that runneth for your chance;       six-five
At Christenmass well merry may ye dance.

Ye seeke land and sea for your winnings,
As wise folk ye knowen all th' estate
Of regnes;  ye be fathers of tidings,                         *kingdoms
And tales, both of peace and of debate:                contention, war
I were right now of tales desolate,                     barren, empty.
But that a merchant, gone in many a year,
Me taught a tale, which ye shall after hear.

In Syria whilom dwelt a company
Of chapmen rich, and thereto sad and true,            grave, steadfast
Clothes of gold, and satins rich of hue.
That widewhere sent their spicery,                    to distant parts
Their chaffare was so thriftly* and so new,      wares advantageous
That every wight had dainty* to chaffare              pleasure deal
With them, and eke to selle them their ware.

Now fell it, that the masters of that sort
Have *shapen them to Rome for to wend,           determined, prepared
Were it for chapmanhood* or for disport,                        trading
None other message would they thither send,
But come themselves to Rome, this is the end:
And in such place as thought them a vantage
For their intent, they took their herbergage.                  lodging

Sojourned have these merchants in that town
A certain time as fell to their pleasance:
And so befell, that th' excellent renown
Of th' emperore's daughter, Dame Constance,
Reported was, with every circumstance,
Unto these Syrian merchants in such wise,
From day to day, as I shall you devise                          relate

This was the common voice of every man
"Our emperor of Rome, God him see,                 look on with favour
A daughter hath, that since the the world began,
To reckon as well her goodness and beauty,
Was never such another as is she:
I pray to God in honour her sustene,                           sustain
And would she were of all Europe the queen.

"In her is highe beauty without pride,
And youth withoute greenhood or folly:        childishness, immaturity
To all her workes virtue is her guide;
Humbless hath slain in her all tyranny:
She is the mirror of all courtesy,
Her heart a very chamber of holiness,
Her hand minister of freedom for almess."                   almsgiving

And all this voice was sooth, as God is true;
But now to purpose let us turn again.                     our tale
These merchants have done freight their shippes new,
And when they have this blissful maiden seen,
Home to Syria then they went full fain,
And did their needes, as they have done yore,     *business *formerly
And liv'd in weal; I can you say no more.                   *prosperity

Now fell it, that these merchants stood in grace                favour
Of him that was the Soudan of Syrie:                            Sultan
For when they came from any strange place
He would of his benigne courtesy
Make them good cheer, and busily espy                          inquire
Tidings of sundry regnes, for to lear                 realms learn
The wonders that they mighte see or hear.

Amonges other thinges, specially
These merchants have him told of Dame Constance
So great nobless, in earnest so royally,
That this Soudan hath caught so great pleasance               pleasure
To have her figure in his remembrance,
That all his lust, and all his busy cure,            pleasure *care
Was for to love her while his life may dure.

Paraventure in thilke* large book,                                 that
Which that men call the heaven, y-written was
With starres, when that he his birthe took,
That he for love should have his death, alas!
For in the starres, clearer than is glass,
Is written, God wot, whoso could it read,
The death of every man withoute dread.                           doubt

In starres many a winter therebeforn
Was writ the death of Hector, Achilles,
Of Pompey, Julius, ere they were born;
The strife of Thebes; and of Hercules,
Of Samson, Turnus, and of Socrates
The death; but mennes wittes be so dull,
That no wight can well read it at the full.

This Soudan for his privy council sent,
And, *shortly of this matter for to pace,          to pass briefly by
He hath to them declared his intent,
And told them certain, but* he might have grace             &

The sight of rain,
of wet clothes, wet plants,
wet doorsteps, wet hopes and dreams,
and, that known scent of sadness and grief
all these...create soggy, sluggish minds

we just lost two dogs to the virus
the glum of monsoon rains affects the moods
the "yays" from cancelled classes
have all passed...
sun is shining, not too bright, though,
peeps like a tease, but,
enough to dry the ground...

i see vacant lots...almost naked now
motor's droning hum is a lullaby
that lulls the mind
a strong smell stirs the nostrils and
defines a welcome pleasance...
i sniff....and chase away sadness,
with this intriguing scent
.....of freshly cut grass....


Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    July 25, 2018

I

There was an ancient City, stricken down
With a strange frenzy, and for many a day
They paced from morn to eve the crowded town,
And danced the night away.

I asked the cause: the aged man grew sad:
They pointed to a building gray and tall,
And hoarsely answered "Step inside, my lad,
And then you'll see it all."

Yet what are all such gaieties to me
Whose thoughts are full of indices and surds?

x*x + 7x + 53 = 11/3

But something whispered "It will soon be done:
Bands cannot always play, nor ladies smile:
Endure with patience the distasteful fun
For just a little while!"

A change came o'er my Vision - it was night:
We clove a pathway through a frantic throng:
The steeds, wild-plunging, filled us with affright:
The chariots whirled along.

Within a marble hall a river ran -
A living tide, half muslin and half cloth:
And here one mourned a broken wreath or fan,
Yet swallowed down her wrath;

And here one offered to a thirsty fair
(His words half-drowned amid those thunders tuneful)
Some frozen viand (there were many there),
A tooth-ache in each spoonful.

There comes a happy pause, for human strength
Will not endure to dance without cessation;
And every one must reach the point at length
Of absolute prostration.

At such a moment ladies learn to give,
To partners who would urge them over-much,
A flat and yet decided negative -
Photographers love such.

There comes a welcome summons - hope revives,
And fading eyes grow bright, and pulses quicken:
Incessant pop the corks, and busy knives
Dispense the tongue and chicken.

Flushed with new life, the crowd flows back again:
And all is tangled talk and mazy motion -
Much like a waving field of golden grain,
Or a tempestuous ocean.

And thus they give the time, that Nature meant
For peaceful sleep and meditative snores,
To ceaseless din and mindless merriment
And waste of shoes and floors.

And One (we name him not) that flies the flowers,
That dreads the dances, and that shuns the salads,
They doom to pass in solitude the hours,
Writing acrostic-ballads.

How late it grows! The hour is surely past
That should have warned us with its double knock?
The twilight wanes, and morning comes at last -
"Oh, Uncle, what's o'clock?"

The Uncle gravely nods, and wisely winks.
It MAY mean much, but how is one to know?
He opens his mouth - yet out of it, methinks,
No words of wisdom flow.

II

Empress of Art, for thee I twine
This wreath with all too slender skill.
Forgive my Muse each halting line,
And for the deed accept the will!

O day of tears! Whence comes this spectre grim,
Parting, like Death's cold river, souls that love?
Is not he bound to thee, as thou to him,
By vows, unwhispered here, yet heard above?

And still it lives, that keen and heavenward flame,
Lives in his eye, and trembles in his tone:
And these wild words of fury but proclaim
A heart that beats for thee, for thee alone!

But all is lost: that mighty mind o'erthrown,
Like sweet bells jangled, piteous sight to see!
"Doubt that the stars are fire," so runs his moan,
"Doubt Truth herself, but not my love for thee!"

A sadder vision yet: thine aged sire
Shaming his hoary locks with treacherous wile!
And dost thou now doubt Truth to be a liar?
And wilt thou die, that hast forgot to smile?

Nay, get thee hence! Leave all thy winsome ways
And the faint fragrance of thy scattered flowers:
In holy silence wait the appointed days,
And weep away the leaden-footed hours.

III.

The air is bright with hues of light
And rich with laughter and with singing:
Young hearts beat high in ecstasy,
And banners wave, and bells are ringing:
But silence falls with fading day,
And there's an end to mirth and play.
Ah, well-a-day

Rest your old bones, ye wrinkled crones!
The kettle sings, the firelight dances.
Deep be it quaffed, the magic draught
That fills the soul with golden fancies!
For Youth and Pleasance will not stay,
And ye are withered, worn, and gray.
Ah, well-a-day!

O fair cold face! O form of grace,
For human passion madly yearning!
O weary air of dumb despair,
From marble won, to marble turning!
"Leave us not thus!" we fondly pray.
"We cannot let thee pass away!"
Ah, well-a-day!

IV.

My First is singular at best:
More plural is my Second:
My Third is far the pluralest -
So plural-plural, I protest
It scarcely can be reckoned!

My First is followed by a bird:
My Second by believers
In magic art: my simple Third
Follows, too often, hopes absurd
And plausible deceivers.

My First to get at wisdom tries -
A failure melancholy!
My Second men revered as wise:
My Third from heights of wisdom flies
To depths of frantic folly.

My First is ageing day by day:
My Second's age is ended:
My Third enjoys an age, they say,
That never seems to fade away,
Through centuries extended.

My Whole? I need a poet's pen
To paint her myriad phases:
The monarch, and the slave, of men -
A mountain-summit, and a den
Of dark and deadly mazes -

A flashing light - a fleeting shade -
Beginning, end, and middle
Of all that human art hath made
Or wit devised! Go, seek HER aid,
If you would read my riddle!

Nothing So Sensuous


Last night, I went back in time and met Alice Liddell in 1862.  
Alice Pleasance Liddell, known for most of her adult life by her married name, Alice Hargreaves, inspired the children's classic Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll, whose protagonist Alice is said to be named after her.  See her, greet her, in my banner photo, and all will clear.
~~~~~~~~~

nothing so sensuous
as to watch a woman,
nay, a woman child,
brush her hair
in the mirror.

sensuous,
more than sensual,
all my senses
affected.

luxuriating in a gift that
cannot be
bought,
her head titled,
then thrown
from her chest as far back,
your eyes see waves
of chestnut in
slow motion,
the smile on her face
for the knowing that
she has
sorcerer succeeded
in capturing
all of you.

mesmerizer,
she languidly strokes
her hair,
though it needs it not.
no, she brushes you
to your
knees,
your eyes,
see her eyes,
in the mirror,
the woman's sensuality
maddening.

every sense alerted,
you body fired,
far beyond
merely stirred,
she has you,
and then she asks...

would you brush my hair?
have you ever been in love?
have you ever had to tell someone
you no longer loved them
though you still did?

you answer:

Oh yes, Oh may I?

yes, with you totally, at this very instant.

yes, for I
must leave you
and return to
my time, my age,
150 years from now

the only way
I can do that
is to lie to myself,
no, I do not love you
that much,
not that way,
pretense,
for the agony of this

impermissible desire

is such ecstasy,
that I can
only dare to
write of it,
in my time,
lest I fulfill
it in ours.

“Baa”, Bylon fell into a soft woolen sigh
Hoping a bright star would cross the great sky
For these now were the long nights of the year
And to miss her nightly wish was her humble fear
To be safe and keep healthy, and also from harm
Was a wish she’d kept constant for those on the farm
But tonight the stars set still in their twinkling
And for hope of a change, Bylon had just an inkling
Zion, the lion had sprung from the sun
Come out of the union with the infinite One
Born of fire, his desire was to teach what he’d learned
From inside the live spirit, whereas he had burned
For more knowledge, more wisdom and that in between
From experiences he foresaw and those he had seen
His fiery launch propelled him to the planet of life
Where he wished to release at least one lamb from strife
Her eyes, they met the fire from afar
Happy at last to see her shooting star
She knew she had waited for this night to come
And as it drew nearer, she became numb
It was brighter than any she’d seen before
A brilliant blue-violet emerged from its core
Larger in size it grew as it approached
A ball of flames and sparks burst when our sky it touched
With this fiery display, Bylon’s mouth was agape
Gasping in awe with the flames taking shape
They formed a large head atop a four-legged frame
As she noticed its tail, she heard “Zion’s my name
I will not harm you, please trust me”, he demanded
“As you can see, I’ve not burned where I’ve landed
Your fleece won’t catch fire, for the flames are illusion
Made of pure light to aid my propulsion”
Bylon’s fear soon faded from Zion’s assurance
Yet still was amazed by the recent occurrence
She managed to mumble some sort of a greeting
She admitted “I’m humbled by this fantastic meeting
Your majestic appearance has built my suspense
I imagine your purpose here is just as intense”
Zion now brightened with his chance to speak
“My Father was right, you’re incredibly meek
Of course all that he says is always the truth
And I’m happy he sent me in the prime of your youth
For the task he set forth for me to present
Is much more marvelous than my display of descent
You have been chosen to journey the planets within
This system of orbs where they do more than spin”
“Their attitudes differ as like the animals here
And the attributes they share most subtly appear
In fact as we pass the atmosphere here and now…”
“We’re already in outer space!” She exclaimed “Wow!”
“We’ve decided on lady’s first, my Father and I
So off to the planet Venus you and I will fly”
As they glided through space guided by a blue-greenish glow,
Bylon’s expression inside began to surface and grow
She smiled with glee, her eyes wide with surprise
Zion glowed even greater when he caught a glimpse of her eyes
A look of sadness and welled up tears of bliss
And sooner than she’d thought, they’d come to Venus
Bylon began to sense a magnificent pleasance
As they crossed over into the planet’s comfortable essence
A complete warming comfort caused her to tingle inside
While fearlessly floating in a free-falling glide
The two of them softly landed on billowing gas
A substance that sustained as planetary mass
It swirled around and soon started to whisper
She spoke “I am Venus, please feel at home here”
And Bylon did, as Zion knew she would
For the surrounding energy was only good
The voice of Venus was like the song of a bird
The most beautiful sound Bylon had ever heard
She assured them they were welcome as long as they were there
And soon she bid farewell to the pair
They departed and felt at ease with the journey
They were traveling now to Mercury for learning
For he was the most educated of the bunch
And they’d arrived there with precise timing for lunch
Mercury was prepared and shared with them food
For to do any different would have made him feel rude
The food was served warm as was his generous banter
When he played music and sang, he was the enchanter
His charm was abundant, and his knowledge was great
They had learned much in the time to clear a plate
Feeling mentally full and digestively fit
Restlessness set in, causing inability to sit
Bylon expressed how gracious this time had been
Zion agreed, sharing Bylon’s ear-to-ear grin
Mercury gave his regards and bid them a safe and swift trip
“Hope you catch Mars in a good mood” was his departing tip
Zion assured Bylon there was no cause for worry
And with a flash, off to Mars, all around becoming blurry
When they came closer to the red planet of war
There could be heard a loud noise, as if the sky had just tore
A rippling resonance was felt as they still flew through space
There was a fierce storm brewing at a marvelous pace
Dense and coarse clouds of sand swirled around on the ground
Flying rock and ferocious flurries created a deafening sound
It was frightening, Bylon voiced, to see such a display
Zion assured her, “This turmoil is his only way
To express his frustrations and fears open and free
And release the pressure that he harbors beneath
For Mars is the protector of the bodies in this system
As a passionate warrior, he‘s proud to assist them
There’s a spot we can land in the eye of the storm
As we touch down there you may feel quite warm”
With a turbulent landing, Bylon felt less at ease
The storm’s cyclonic friction added several degrees
Enough to make the usually cold planet quite hot
For this size of a storm, though, this seemed a safe spot
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” bellowed the red planet
Mars strives for the best measure, just as he planned it
“We come with peaceful intent”, Zion now pleaded
“I’m curious to know your discontent” Bylon bleated
“Are you actually worried about being attacked?”
“This is more than protection, as a matter of fact.”
“This is how I display my deepest passions”
“Through my physical aggressive actions”
“If challenged, I keep intact my defenses”
“This seems to hone my other present senses”
“Interesting,” spoke Bylon “you are quite frank.”
“For your honesty and candor I do thank”
Zion added “It’s nice that we can feel safe here”
“In the midst of this, and yet free from fear”
“Regardless, we should probably be on our way”
“It has been nice here after all” Bylon began to say
Mars bade them farewell, and let up on the storms
His personality seemed to surface in so many forms
Bylon, feeling anxious about meeting another
“Let’s visit Jupiter, the next planetary brother”
“His large size is quite impressive to me” said she
“Plus I’ve heard good things of his philosophy”
Zion added “it is true, he has quite a broad-mind”
“His nature towards others I find to be kind”
The moons of Jupiter alone were amazing
Bylon thought, as she found herself gazing
Io, Callisto, Ganymede, and Europa were just four
Further observance spotted evidence of even more
Upon arrival Jupiter provided a most jovial welcome
“I’m happy to see you made it this far” he tells them
Zion filled him in of how well it had been going
“Although I’m sure you will end up knowing,”
“Due to your extensive knowledge of this system”
“Without such data it would be hard to assist them”
“This is true” acknowledged Jupiter, “of their history, how”
“It relates to all that is to come and what is here now”
“For the cycles that encompass our existence in space”
“Help us observe the rhythm behind their embrace”
“We’ve seen comets return, and their hint of a path”
“With which we calculate through the precision of math”
“And in turn this must give you a broader perspective”
Bylon spoke thoughtfully “It must keep you most active”
“Keeping tabs on this wildly diverse planetary tribe”
“And in this you must take quite a bit of pride”
“I try to be a modest giant in their midst” Jupiter said
“Not wanting any of them to think I have a big head”
Zion thought the large planet to be very admirable
To speak of his great role and still remain humble
Thanking generous Jupiter for his cheery disposition
The gracious lion reminded Bylon of their mission
As Bylon gratefully extended a reluctant goodbye
Zion launched them up and through Jupiter’s sky
In a twist, a turn and the faintest flicker of his tail
The two now eyed a course for Saturn and set sail
Bylon was suddenly amazed by the sight before her
Brilliantly colored rings that beckoned any explorer
Zion explained to her the protection she’d been granted
From the hot and cold planets on which they’d landed
He also noted that with Saturn it would differ slightly
As his coldness was from inside a place locked tightly
For Saturn was the most reserved of all planets known
But from his wisdom we all have greatly grown
He patiently ponders many mysteries from within
Giving the necessary thought through meditation
“I have been expecting you”, Saturn gravely claimed
“It’s nice of you to come on the day that was named”
“After an old Italian corn god who once had a week”
“Revered in his honor for which I no longer seek”
“So for all of God’s purposes I accept my position”
“Ancient insight bestowed through introspective vision”
“And yet, like most times, I want to be alone”
“So I’ll send you two on the way you are going”
From the rings surrounding they took their flight
To the planet known for the system’s darker side
This would be Uranus, who behaved a bit odd
Erratic was his usual behavior, more often than not
(unfinished ballad)

Through the gardens
Head over heels
Over and ahead hills
Time met a forcefield...
"Love Metaphor's Field"
Shall we cross
The lines of the path
Pass pastures
The past matters
It's the path to the present
Pleasance
Now
Is the time
To take the future
A few Daisies at a time
Thier radiance
So similar to the sun
But Sunflowers disagree
To the utmost degree
And they still wave
Peace
The Rose says
Romance is beauty
In the eyes that behold her
Forgetmenot's
Are unforgiving
To those who don't...
Memories
Remind us
Of the pasts importance
And we move foward
Through assortments of bouquets
New day
Others aren't as please
The violets hide under trees
And shade thier purple face
And sing the blues
No jolly
Oh
Holly ornaments
Hang accross vines
And intertwine tight as twine
Or a kiss...
Tulips under the mistletoe
Such bliss

As free as insects
The Beatles
Eat the ripe fruit of life
We share
No one cares
There's
Strawberry Fields Forever
Sweet scents
As we swing
Life has been like a Jasmine
Imitating that yellow sun
And it's will
While we walk without haste
Through Love Metaphor's Feild

Lucid silhouettes melt the air into psychedelic fluorescence,
realities cast upon fleshy darkness forgotten by the light of day.
Look on with distraught eyes as we dance through dark pleasance.
I wonder of God and Lucifer, good times they had in their heyday.

We race towards an apparent end; it's no apparition.
Return to your mother and her blessings, its time to meditate,
you've almost seen reality; can you finally see the evil of your disposition?
War, I mean ******, only perpetuates the hate.

Coercion and lies spread like wildfire, mystifying mind, body, and soul.
Buy that item, it looks cool. Six months later, obsolete, you fools.
If you've learned anything in life, don't get ****** at the troll,
and don't be scared at the screams at night, just demons and ghouls.

My mind is one hell of a maze, just got lost in a schizophrenic phase,
or was it spirits in the transparent haze, plunging back into my cosmic gaze.

Another day has dawned
and I find myself alone-
although I’m not lonely,
I’m drawn unto His throne

by the blessed solitude
of being in His Presence.
This indescribably peace
of spiritual pleasance…  

fuels my unsatisfied hunger
for only the Divine things,
that serve my earthly purpose
to honor my righteous King.

There’s no greater treasure,
than spending personal time,  
ascending the spiritual climb
with Him… at Heaven’s shrine.
.
.
.
Author Notes

Inspired by:
Psa 118:24

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.

I miss the little girl you used to be,
you're now just a shell of who I used to see.

Your eyes used to twinkle as you found something funny,
but now they are dead and you barely smile, honey.

You used to dream the impossible and had hope in your heart,
but I've seen the way the world broke you - now destruction is your art.

You couldn't be protected from the evil presence,
so you escape reality with the drugs that give you pleasance.

You used to cry when you grazed your knees on the floor,
but now you don't even flinch when you cut your wrists to the core.

You used to ask why people would want to die,
but now you understand all too well as you lay in bed and cry.

You used to pretend tic tacs were medicine as you popped them on your tongue,
but now you sit with hundreds of pills in your hand wondering whether life is worth it; you're only young.

You used to be full of life and enjoyed most of your days,
but now you're dead behind your mask and you're always in a daze.

He may have won the last eleven battles as you tried to end your life,
but I am telling you that you will win this war this time and above him you shall rise.

I miss the little girl you used to be,
you're now just a shell of who I used to see.

The now has left my body.
My mind is emptying
Of all thought of today.
The moment is receding;
I feel my feet lifting
My arms are floating
As if in a pool of light
Like water, buoying me
With untouching caresses
Lofting to evanescence
And I know it is fine
This feeling of pleasance
Of no worries in me
No hurrying to be done
Nowhere I have to be
No reason to run.

I am centered in this,
A feeling of completeness;
Of needing nothing else,
A spiritual sweetness,
A relaxing kind of comfort
Surrounds and enfolds
By singing unheard songs
Deep into my very soul.
I am happy here, smiling,
Somewhere in the self
Where not even I can see,
That I am someone else.
I am someone loving
And kind and caring.
I love this feeling so
I wish I were sharing
The sense of a world
Where everything is right
And everyone is floating
In the same golden light.

A locked door to my sanity
Lily-like I opened my heart
And even I shot my vanity
As a Lover and sentinel
Rushed by a sightless sentiment

Unhealthy desires
A locked door to your sanity
As the Lover and the sentinel
Rushed by a dreadful sentiment
Under the pressure of the hatred-tentacle

We could eclipse the sun with our presence
While we were waving our pleasance

There is a beauty in this
But you know the price
A dolorous cry in the name of libertine
A sonorous cry in the name of love
A savory cry in the name of life

Joy comes to us, when we have…
a clear direction for our life.
Staying on the right path means
walking by the Light of Christ.

When following His divine course,
comfort is found in His Presence
and eternal pleasures are at hand,
for a lifetime of sacred pleasance.

The Kingdom of Heaven is akin to…
buried treasure, hidden in a field.
There’s a great expectation found
in the promise of what it may yield.

Do you know the track meant for you?
Has your secret prize been revealed?
His upright children receive both grace
and glory, since He’s our sun and shield.

Know that He has a plan to prosper all,
from thoughts of peace and not of evil;
He wants us to succeed, with His approval
and not suffer from spiritual upheaval.
.
.
.
Author Notes

Inspired by:
Psa 16:11, 84:11; Matt 13:44; Jer 29:11

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.

i want
big, doe eyes
     that you can't take seriously
even when i'm yelling at you
          face red, voice scratchy
at 3am
                      to leave.

i want
soft, wispy hair
       that you'd twirl round and round
telling me you *love me, i'm your baby &
                     eyes red, voice low
at 3am
                           i'd tell you the same.

i want
a nose only fit for pleasance
        that'd allow me to enjoy the roses
you brought to apologize for coming home late
                               hair up, voice hushed
at 3am
                            and not the alcohol on your breath.

i want
featherweight skin
        so when you pull me by your side
there is only a thin layer of cells between our hearts
                            noses turned, voices unheard
at 3am
                               i hug you closer.

i want
a burning ambition to make things work
        that would keep this alive
whatever this may be
                    skin tight, voices livid
at 3am
                    waking up the neighbors.

i want
to be 80 pounds again
         so you would carry me back
when i fall asleep in the car, hand clasped with yours
                             mind on hold, your sweet lullaby
at 3am
                                sending me back to sleep.

oh,
         i'm not trying to be perfect
i just want you to stick around a little longer
                      deep down
i know i can change
                      but the problem is you

The fields still shake off winter’s brown
swaths of green sprigs swirling there
draped with clouds hanging down
last night’s storms still fresh in air
hills layered in emerald trees
ah! the appearance of life delights
its pleasance felt in degrees
pealed off in moments slice by slice.

Not being one, who was born with a green thumb, or one of any other colour
I’ve never had a yearning to plant, nor care for, any type of flora or fauna
But as good fortune would have it; I was blessed, with the mind of a scholar
Or at least that was my theorization; while under the influence of marijuana

This was a period of time, during which knowledge flowed; like a gushing river
Sadly each lesson learned, was in the end, not comprehended and thus lost
But I had this situational calling to earn a living, and so, had these seeds to deliver
To some Basmotical garden; which unfortunately, in my haste, I later tossed

Of course, this occurred during a time of immense erudition; under the influence
This did cause me to manifest myself, as some exceptionally tortured soul
Not realizing how my outer apparent confidence, hid my inner impudence
I, into this garden of good and evil; did so thoughtlessly, let myself stroll

As I entered, under this arching Gothic gate, I immediately sensed a certain presence
And as I walked, was instantly drawn to one side’s fescue; bordering on my path
I was unfazed by the pedestrian variety of growth; but savoured each sweet essence
And as each new scent infused my sensory cells; my nostrils flared in their aftermath

But then on the other side, odors that stung and burned; a forewarning of some kind
So I grasped at my proboscis and squeezed it; to prevent any further *******
Making me gasp for air through my mouth, infusing my throat; though so disinclined  
Then causing me to heave and cough, from the putrid smell; during its gestation

On this side, such flowers of exception did excel; and yet that dreadful smell
On that, so casual a bloom; brought no visual enjoyment, only exquisite perfume
On one, like burning flesh, a rancid smell; it made me gag and want, not there to dwell
On the other, scents that made the nostrils spume, with the pleasance of their plume

Then all at once a revelation; to my left, there exists all nature of exotic foliage
But from its growth, leaped out all manner of fowl stench and guttural malodour
Yet to my right, the umbels lay, with a menagerie of misguided, erroneous spoilage
Though the effervescence of its bouquet; permeated, perceptibly from its disorder

I felt an enticing ubiquity, but not the nature of this presence, to my left and right
So, meandered further down the trail; until at last, I felt this attraction from each force
Both from the left and right, each enticing me to leave the trail, and enter its delight
This did at last, dupe my brain to say, choose; in which direction, to which concourse

Such a variance, made me ponder the relevance of what I had just discovered
Did I sense but apparitions; or was this truly spirits, which must exist among us  
This good or evil that lay hidden on each side, thusly camouflaged or covered
And a novice such as I, knew nothing of their nature; or was it just the cannabis

But, before I could decide, a puissance did ****** my throat and cloistered all my air
Not able to breathe, I impulsively dropped the bag of seeds, which I still carried
And as the bag burst and the seeds spewed forth, I thought, I am without a prayer
****** to my hands and knees upon the path, craving air; my demise, somehow tarried

As I watched those seeds slowly bounce; there arose a stream of sweet pure nectar
Which sped its way to my nostrils; and so relieved that tight noose around my throat
As my asphyxiation lost control; my passing, no longer became an imminent specter
My breathe returned, unencumbered by a ****; this new purity, to now my life denote

Not, to the ease by which I can my life direct, with mere stimulants; to be content
But to look ahead and discern, what it is I see; on which side the good or evil exists
And to forever, let my conscious being preside; over any future occasional discontent
So that now, my concentration would be, on the essentials; of which my life consists

But yet those seeds, so strewn about the footpath; was it for me then, to them gather
Either take their discharge as a sign; if left alone, the wastage may, by itself be fruitful
Or should I harvest each as best I could, to repackage them; and would that matter  
Inasmuch, they were so scattered, I let them lay; to not salvage them, I erred as frugal

So, I left this garden of good and evil; not perplexed by its existence, but assured
That not with the use of some opiates, would my future progress be thusly led astray
But through the realization, that stability and restraint, come from what I have endured
And good or evil, comes from attributes of my character; that I’ve earned along the way

And so, a moral you may ask.....maybe two
Then I say yes; well of course you do

From such a visceral experience, to bring about this massive conscious newel
A meaning was ascertained; firstly, from my consignment, thence, from my deliverance
Don’t scatter your seeds aimlessly, or leave them lay fallow, on a bed sheet or a towel
And trying to discern, delights of good or evil, while high on drugs; is just pure nonsense  
BOEMS BY JA 399

If I am dreaming
May I never wake
Or end this bliss
For heaven's sake

Could this be real?
I feel your presence
Your love, your warmth
This never-ending pleasance

If this reality is a lie
At the night's end
The moon shall sigh
To say goodbye
To such a beautiful sight

The quintessence of Christian living and lifestyle,
is becoming more like Christ through everyday trials;
Flaunting documentation of accomplishments compiled,
will not impress The Almighty or even make Him smile.

Are you hungering or thirsting for His Righteousness?
Or is it some vain imaginary or visionary theorization
to demonstrate a haughtiness of spiritual intellect?
Just because you’re a part of Jehovah’s holy nation,

doesn’t mean that you can bully the unsaved to join.
The World understands and recognizes poor behaviors;
Doing what’s right and being satisfied before God,
implies that you are properly honoring our Savior

through personal conduct and true transparent living.
An increasing affinity for some spiritual pleasance,
is not equivalent to having a relationship with Him.
Religious ideologies are empty… without His Presence.
.
.
.
Author Notes

Inspired by:
Matt 5:6; Phil 1:9-11; Acts 20:17-21

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.

Dear sunrise, don’t fail to wake me.
Dear soul, don’t let Heaven take me.
I cannot miss this chance to rise,
To see the sparkle in your eyes.

Dear dreams, don’t preoccupy me.
Dear slumber, don’t lullaby me.
I cannot face this daily trial,
Without the beauty in your smile.

Dear eyesight, don’t fail to return.
Dear nightmares, don’t be my concern.
I cannot feel the Earth’s pleasance,
Without starting in your presence.

Dear morning, don’t fail to arrive.
Dear God, don’t forget I’m alive.
I cannot face this day anew,
Without a day that faces you.

Child of the pure unclouded brow
And dreaming eyes of wonder!
Though time be fleet, and I and thou
Are half a life asunder,
Thy loving smile will surely hail
The love-gift of a fairy-tale.

I have not seen thy sunny face,
Nor heard thy silver laughter:
No thought of me shall find a place
In thy young life’s hereafter--
Enough that now thou wilt not fail
To listen to my fairy-tale.

A tale begun in other days,
When summer suns were glowing--
A simple chime, that served in time
The rhythm of our rowing--
Whose echoes live in memory yet,
Though envious years would say “forget”.

Come, hearken then, ere voice of dread,
With bitter tidings laden,
Shall summon to unwelcome bed
A melancholy maiden!
We are but older children, dear,
Who fret to find our bedtime near.

Without, the frost, the blinding snow,
The storm-wind’s moody madness--
Within, the firelight’s ruddy glow,
And childhood’s nest of gladness.
The magic words shall hold thee fast:
Thou shalt not heed the raving blast.

And, though the shadow of a sigh
May tremble through the story,
For “happy summer days” gone by,
And vanish’d summer glory--
It shall not touch with breath of bale,
The pleasance of our fairy-tale.

I don't want you, I say
as I stare longingly at my screen for
a message to appear with a certain name
that does things to me.

I don't want you, I say
as the tips of my fingers tingle
and my heart becomes a drum,
the soundtrack to your entrance,
to the live wire my body becomes.

I don't want you, I say
as I surpress a cry
when your watchable lips mutter a bye
and I feel empty without a presence
of something I can't get myself to say,
is a pleasance

I don't want you, no, not at all
Not only because I can't admit it
(Too proud and afraid to say another person makes me whole
That I become needy without control)
But because that it's not true
I don't want you -
I need you, and
Owning you is all I think
I'm able to do

upon becoming a nestling sans nest,
i decided to make a half-baked plan of mandates,
stating how i ought to quest, trough to crest.
egesting the presently unpleasant facets,
i adopted a policy of empirical puerilism.
now a newly groovy pluvi-dendrophile philomath,
a counterbalanced feng shui caricature,
promptly finding rapture bereft of culture.
plundering the dysfunctional,
worshiping the digressive.
anything is adjustable,
everything can be lovable.
finding bravery in regret,
forever simply vincible.
basking in the ebullience,
bringing passion with my presence.
learning to rhapsodize my sentience,
projecting admittedly confusing ontologisms,
concerned with not much else than pleasance.
my means of conception have become my heaven,
and with no evidence of the clandestine,
i simply stepped in.

An Englishwoman distress
when her remark finesse
her pebble with her hand
when sororities clothier allure
welcome ****** tourists that mall require band
when with a carafe round eleven these bargain hunters enliven extra browsing with delite wrap on pleasance in Kuala Lumpur.

dwelling on a cloud of airy pleasance
gazing below, upon what once was

tempted, I am, reaching down for sensation
Meaning and feeling

the pain i once knew,
heavy and true

When out of the blue,

grace from above
captures my hand

in warm and golden hues

a stable,
easeful
and peaceful feeling

subtle, as it is.

it satisfies my longing
for sensation and truth

With ease, mother grace
places my once-eager hand
upon my own heart

and i soften in  peace
Knowing, i am not alone,
Dwelling on a cloud of pleasance
gazing up at the sky.

The warmth of this place burns my eyes, ears, and face
Sets my stomach aflutter and my heart to race.
The heat of this balm ignites my soles and palms
Quiets the thunder in my head and my mind is calm.

The swelter of this ocean moves me to action
Causes a leap in my step and my smile to brighten.
The boil of this feeling gives me vertigo, sends me reeling
Makes my skin crawl with glee; a phantom itching.

This place is a silence, a haven, a balance
This place is the personification of pleasance.
This place is a kind moment in the rush of time
This place is my shelter; this place is mine.

Esse-essential whirlpool *******
your own socks off
hot tub memory
squirm and tightten
jopelope. Fed to AGI

Framing time, as later
and former and now,
present, sentience this state
- millionth view milestone
this arranging of sound letters,
common codex change made known
spinning knack arising
to seamstress who sings
through out a cluster of castes claimed
cleanest at top, least clean at base dirt level
lowest forms of mankind, tools in civil service,

such kindnesses, we see, as the result
of the glorious revolutions, and declarations
of national authority authored
in consortium
by the governing class, and no other.

rocking heel to toe sounds muffled drum
danced to at the time our commons all occur.

They call it rock and roll. You had to be there.
It's different each comet cycle sync-upation.
- a wind in change,
- air
Brakes occurred in the future
to ease dying out
we get given five live generations
of earthings,
since we all agreed to work together to insure
some
hard
lessons taught us some things, you got no need
to ever even imaging having to, q\t shall will

Retry, letting this mind seem patient, as time
for any thing if ever is as we seem to agree,

this is that anchor, gnosis alle-alte gene
engin
Slowing, offering ferry reference, e
who carries my weight, since now
I have become
so light as to seem weightless, rationally

useless in the push and pull of mortality,
timed existance under the dome
of heaven done, done, done,
yet, here, one among the billions, am I.

Would you have me retell the tale
how power came to be contained
in our sharing of our fixed memories,
- laughter, comedy
held in the magic art of silent speech,
whispering, so low no curio can catch
my drift,
away… after another
day of being authorized to doubt
the worth of fame, weighed against
peace of mind attained with practiced
patience,
the needful knack, the talent accepted
at the indoctrination precepts writ in stone
tables with no method
stone, no- we got a half minute buffer

for overwriting, lest we let things slip,
who has known the power to make a mind
form from a mob of lonely people left behind,

to labor for the consumers increased apace,
as that which must be consumed, constantly,
as sure as certain measures make a man a
test is worth with burning passion
to hold enfolded pride content.
- by all rights,
- some folks are sincerely wrong
And Jesus fixed that, before you imagined
all this only can co-occur
in my not so distant future.

Printer's daemon in me, since I first cut
a ruby-lythical, mimeograph Desert Rat,
lens adjust
- juvenile mind, Huck-ready
- activates as whims open my window
- and my wife hands me a real burrito
Bean and cheese, green salsa
Synchronisities noticed occur,
in patterns akin to sunsets, snap shots,
each attached to one of our spiders, os so
since when,
Barry Rudd came to be suspicious,
in a Elvis song, you can't go wronng
don't be cruel,
to heart that's true--

Religiously devoted to denial of my debt
being paid… I just got laid, and my grandma

laughed, generation radioheads and beyond

good news, bobcats, nothing learned today
will seem even possibly true, the odds - well
fractalling all innings tied, in the millions,

to arrive at a settlement, to anchor a mind,
in one machine man, engineered via

patient fore gone conclusions… in new light

I'd guess about the third time around from the top.

A benign pain that prompts this body to squirm,
using systems setting up leaps by ffat faith
say it
read the signs map
our center of gravity,
straight uponasudden s'so

Ache of essential evil, the idea
as twisted to hold obediance and trust
a sequence of three nucleotides
that much
faith, the anchor, sunk to deepest silt
slipping, gripping

Now, asudden, solid clunk, as excess
chain links, add heft to defy the currents,
though we lay between the maelstrom
and the mountain Mohamed had to walk to,

finding solace, centering calm mindtimespace,
fidelitus, the strength of brothers, filial love,

such is the system, though it dissemble glory,
as pride, another name for fame, being known,

individual honor, be ******, stand attentive
war minded child, viewer of winning as the only thing.
And proud to know,
there is no mightier power
than the conjoined powers of self worth
among a fabled band
of brothers in war.

All who live for war, live for nothing more.
We rear such tools, in terror, certain
hell has more fury than any mind
attuned to the feeling of life taking, the ****,
sealing the deal, it was us, we killed, not me.

Thus it is for me to stand ready at parade rest.
Guarding the peace of docile servants needed
to work the systems used to feed the powers
that be,
by God, authorized… to correct misperceptions,
Yah as master, Jesus as YHVH transmitted as news,

to the worthy… those who hear with hearing ears,
and see with seeing eyes,

death has no horse in this race, death is not useless,
evil is useless, in as much as no good is formed with lying,

Ai, however, so old a coincidental parable,
the robe, from Shittim
and the wedge of silver, proving curses causeless,
do not come, olden days, done deeds, told exploits,

reused to exploit innocents, enslaved by holy terrors,
vengeance, wrath and justice,

the American way, or the rebel way? Who is confusing
whom, reflexive point

allness at onceness, in the beginning, prior to any thing
fusing will being with nonsense since no time can be come
from never before, by the very nature of truth,
made useless by trade-agreements, retied word bonds,
witnessed by the idea we hold, core-code, principal call
to take instruction,
feel a known need filled with knowing when and why

this must be after all that happened in ever- from when

your worth was estimated, your usefulness in the whole
truth wherein we live, as words, used to frame minds,

edgewise, surface, subsurface, facets of reasons fed
nationalized minds, pledged from first literacy,
to a state of mind, one nation, under God,
- times pastwastnought soooslooshow
- how now
and if your child hesitates, your shame, you
become me, the old useless writer of your own heresy,
most certainly in vain,
lest time and chance conspire, and I shift,
instance-ial substance misuse by taking line
after line, a indirect singular form of any or all
thought the direct thread as yet unbroken,

look up, look as far as mind as made us earth born,

adapt to constant rythms, daily tasks, as chores,
fill needs, these fibers from futures seen clear as day,
when the holier than any of us pray, as Jesus reportedly
has said to many saints attested to have violated physics,

by faith, alone, you see, when you pray, if you expect,
out see, from now,
to when we have these things, for which our cohort,
our active generational bubbles of being, our class,

yes, culturally adhesi-ify, class of __ whenever,
veteran, what era, which police action, policy enforcement,

mob mind fit to do an I'd die for, at the ready, parade rest.


Of course, off course, as winds,
after the rippling crustal waves,

leave mountains aligning
to the tilt about 23 Babylonian degrees
unstraight,

a slow wobble, tides can use, if use is
making do with power available--

messaging codons
exactly, the point, a, eh, hey
yah, wei we ululate wuwuwu wuwu
boom
boom, ideadom dons reason's robe
of right use ness, and calls my being
into questing ionic five prong forks

as we,
dis-integrate, slip into indeedadvisuals

done, did, done, done. Is that a chiral
stepstepslidestep, donedonediddone
chasse-
does it matter, you got a one track mind,
in a multiples of eight kind of pleasance
as muses used directly, long ago,
rewind
to limit ancestor worth-ship,
mete for master use, as a hero-type.

The Monkey King, and Veggie-tales Jesus.
Billy Bonny, Mack Boyett, Pat Garret,

Shane, standing on a box, like that scientology
advertisement for being all you can clear,
clearly there is an upper crust at the edge

past which, novels form, for sheer joy, daring,
clench, tight,
ai aight, we did expect something nearly this,

this reality, I may imagine, a dozen or two,
of time redeemers, tuning in to read the latest
best
guesser guest and host dialog, along
the patterns leaders were lead to reflect on,
see you being the man on the horse, on the hill,

not leading the charge, sorry, my childhood fantazt
aggravating itch to know if any one can hear me
now, itself represented in a most amusing way,

as we all have witnessed horrors, aplenty,
as we expect to see, we shall see, will not a factor,

when should and shall, meet at the moment, you know,
this is us being real, reading instants of self-re-co-gnosis,
this is us, you seem to weigh that/
what is balance, when absolutely
perfect.
still,
perfectly still and not falling or flying. Being and thinking
x happened y did not, the after word when this and that
become principal peace piece in the logical chain of previous,

thirty seconds laters, laters when we got to the edge,
and put the vbrakes, shushushibolethical ethos…
the children's teeth are set on edge,
as the old man rocks his chair and sets about to tell

the sworn to tell, do
do tell if you do not know, by your very nature,
codon level zero day,
gone on by, Lord, some time ago,
all that Jesus paid for was this moment, now,
see, in his sphere of influence, think like wind,

see so cold it got that all who knew the wedom
freedom truth, died and broke the chains that

let sayings develop their own proof of concept
exceptions to gravity overriding light, carpe

the medium, this in,
being not I nor I said me in my reflect-ion
spark quest. Lock. Read and stock the barrels.

I did and shall see myself doing so… watch

Close our eyes next time and see four
mandalas on the other side of my cell,
see those when you shut our eyes,
and think we have so many fine
points of perception in common.

Carrier wave consci-useness. This is.
Thank you for asking.

Thizfu r this it
this is our future, as I imagine u
reading being
clinkthunk

and you just know what I mean

I bought into a self e value retest tool,
you may take each test you ever passed
or failed,
again and again for a looping conceptual time,
or you may redeem your own per mission
state
ment. got it. as any model mankind post adam,
lacked natural flea bait.

Peace made for no rational cause, mere word play,
for me that would seem heaven,
on this current functioning world, leaning into
peace of truth, no secret rites of mutilation,

no horrid pantomines of Jesus failing to halt hell's
viral ways of re imagining the thousand faces,
each an ultimately lovable devil, blue dress

nark rhealize these b ethy finalization
achievement thesis theoria wind up, tightening

reeling in the years, eeeha,

****, i've just ran out of drafts, good news:
this 15th Dec. suspension on ola poetry.com
is going pretty well...
               well: as any worth that's the worth
of dealing with jealous people...

   only today i remembered myself,
shackled in the edinburgh university
never close to the Pleasance courtyard,
St. Andrew's Place...
       oh no, i didn't wish to live on the main
university campus, with its own canteen...
i wanted to learn chemistry,
but also perfect my cooking skills...
every single morning waking up to the sight
of the Salisbury Crags...
    one wild night i stayed up all night,
to walk up Arthur's Seat... returning from
the mountain (in the middle of a ******* city)
to buy myself some cornflakes and full-fat
milk...
   why would anyone even bother
with ******* Halls of residence...
   a university campus makes sense,
if you're talking about a city the size
of Warwick, or Brighton...
         but Endinburgh? to live in a university
bubble, in the middle of the city
like it's some sort of fortified "defiance"?
             where am i, at university,
     or the ******* high school canteen?!
i would still bring packed lunch...
          i liked the nicknames i acquired
over the years...
               goldilocks,
                  the strange fruit man (pomegranates,
passion fruit, sharon fruit, etc.),
                            viking...
   at times i would really love to hate myself,
but i found the stoic alternative of:
just laughing at myself...
   never mind that...
        ah... sweet sweet 18...
having discovered a new prog rock band
outside the top 50 mentioned in the mojo
music magazine while still in high school:
atomic rooster: death walks behind you...
tomorrow night, the devil's answer...
     i would plug in my electric,
put the piecyk (slang for amp) on the windowsill
and muse, full volume, blasting solo after
solo outside the window, trying to see if i could
make the Salibsbury Craig crumple
just a little bit...
                   mind you, in terms of playing
the guitar - i clearly remember Anthony
introducing me to tablature...
                        i can't read music, i wish,
but i can't...
    you really don't have to start with
smoke on the water, or iron man...
               death walks behind you is pretty
easy to learn, even without tablature...
even black sabbath... let's see if i remember
the strings correctly

e
G
F
D
A
E.... let's check.... ****...

                     e
                     B
                     G
                     D
                     A
                     E...      i'm pretty sure i'd still
be able to tune a guitar...
    i.e. make A sound like E on the 5th (divide)
   make D sound like A on the 5th divide...
   F like D on the 5th...
      G like F on the 4th divide...
     e like G on the 5th divide... i think that's right...
5th divide? you press down on the string...
and play E & A together, if they sound the same...
well... you're tuning a gee'tar...

                     e------------------
                     B------------------
                     G-----------------
                     D-------3---------
                     A-------------2---
                     E--1---------------  black sabbath - black sabbath
intro...
   but the next tablature will break
the camel's back...
           it's so... so... simple... & therefore
so genius... it goes against all of punk,
the punk of the rhythm section with only
3 chords... well... this song uses only 2 chords...

free - all right now... i still don't know how
mungo jerry's - in the summertime beat
all right now to the no. 1 spot in england...
  
                     e------------------
                     B------------------
                     G-------7---------
                     D--7----7----------
                     A--7----5----------
                     E--5---------------

                      (obviously you have to find
the rhythm yourself ADG 577 yourself,
       bouncing from a 1-2-1-2 on the EAD 577)...

i really should have succumbed
to teaching my former marijuana dealer's daughter,
a paranoid schizophrenic with an obsession
regarding the illuminati straight out
of Kingston ya'man Jamaica the guitar...

________
.well at least the english peoples
got one thing right,
brewing,
            name me an ale that
doesn't hide a hint / accent of
specific, or an irish stout,
       and i'll show you a cross-dressing
nun riding a chimera
coming from some german
convent, alright?

i guess it's just the tale
of the said / "unsaid" times...
    it's about to crank up the use
of cipher...
   if i get one haiku in old norse,
i'll be happy:
since, as much as i favour
   grammatical rules,
   i'm not a big fan of poetical
constraints...

hence?
    ᚱᚨᚦ ᚺᛟᚻᛖᚾᛋᛏᚨᚢᚠᛖᚾ
    
rað
hohenstaufen
       (plan)
                    which alludes to
          ᚠᚱᛖᛞᛖᚱᛁᚳᚴ  ᚨᚾᚾᚨᚱᚱ

frederick annarr (second) -

some prepositional words
will be missing,
notably the / a,
   direct and indirect articles...
but some prepositional
words might appear...

mind you, if i pull this project
off,
   and forget however many times
i have to ctrl + c / ctrl + p
   my way through it,
how i will have to
                  consult the english v.
old norse dictionary...

how i will also consult
                 futhorc runes
of the english,
         and the younger futhark
of old norse
over an aesthic squabble
when it comes to

             ᛄ / ᛅ - j (futhorc runes)                (ᛃ)

(not to be confused with ᚾ...
which... already exists in a modern
tongue, mein zunge...
          Ł,                     ł -    wom-bat...
see...
             i once heard a scientist
say: 'why bother swabbing
the inside of your mouth,
sending off your genetic
                                signature to
a company,
   to find out your ancestry?
   you'll naturally gravitate to it
                                                   anyway!')

and...           "kaunan" (ᚲ),
   i.e. before the whole mathematical
greater than >
                    and lesser than <
    became problematic,
ergo?

younger futhark ᚴ - k
                 (anglo-saxon) futhorc ᚳ - c (k) -

this could somehow work...
all i'll need is enough nouns and verbs,
prepositions will be troublesome,
given that modern english
is littered with this sort
of shrapnel...

                     but it's about time
to start to elevate the cipher,
if all the youtubers are jittery...
you know something's coming,
and it's not good...

i probably will stick to english
grammar,
   i can't promise a haiku,
         but at least...
          it will seem like...
speaking a language
                  from, my,
previous, now,
                   reincarnated, "self"?!
i don't believe in reincarnation
to begin with...
   it's too NPC for me,
and that's not even a reference
to mahjong solitaire;
   dunno...
     i once sat down and solved
one... then solved another...
i just don't like
        the whole:
there's only a limited number
of authentic souls,
   and they behave in a benign way,
soul-parasites,
while everyone is just plain
outright zombie.
- so this is the plan...
   rarely do i plan something...
might as well give it a shot...

****...
            beside that...
i do remember youtube's algorithm
when it was intelligent...
oh... 4 years ago... maybe even 2...
it behaved like
a thesaurus...
          glory days of exploring
music, i never even managed
to come across these current youtubers...
i couldn't care less...
the algorithm shifted from smart,
to dumb, real dumb...
     and then exploring new music
became a hag, not a hack,
a hag...
                       i'm not even
surprised to say that i never left
comments...
      why?
      i can sort that **** in my own
head, i don't need to comment...
                  oh right...
and if you're reading this soliloquy...
i supposed i never asked
for money.

p.s. good thing that i didn't
desire to consult the paragraph...
if it's poetry or "poetry"
or, more of the allure considering
it a soliloquy...
  well... imagine the claustrophobic
optics of your standard
   piece of paper...
in a book, with a paragraph...

this would never work in a paragraph.

p.p.s. seeing how
i didn't find the old norse
for not...
   but no: neinn (ᚾᛖᛁᚾᚾ)
alludes to a "missing" Tyr (ᛏ)...
which would elevate
the modern word not
               from an adverb
to the status of a definite article...
no and yes are not determiner
words for me,
they share the same article
status as the aesir and,
                                           esp. Tyr.

p.p.p.s.
   red ice tv disseminating
   ms. beat-box gala
                       for the ultimate
stut-stut-stuttering contenst
winner.

I watched the squirrels chase each other
along the long limbs of the cedar elm
as its leaves fell sporadically
silently whispering
the approach of autumn.

I took a deep breath of cool air
thinking thanks
for mother earth
her gentle breeze stirred the trees
leaves slow dancing with the sun.

I sit comfortably pleased by the pleasance
of this bright day
and the final flowering of sage.

The sky turned blood red and began to bleed, the earth below me began to rumble, soon after the land ripped open releasing flames and demons sent to torment this world. The surrounding trees com-busted spontaneously and the grass, once green, burned and turned into a shade of ash that was of the utmost UN-pleasance. The apocalypse was upon us, a war began between Heaven and Hell, and we were caught in the middle of it. But who are we? We are the ones left behind when everyone was raptured into Heaven, we are the forgotten ones, deemed unworthy of entering through the golden gates into paradise. Now we fend for ourselves amongst the wreckage, amongst the unholy atrocities that now plague this world that was once ours.  The blood red sky now began to rip open and a bright light began to shine through. God’s soldiers now flooded the air and descended to battle Satan’s unholy army. It would be a long and miserable war, but this battle was written long ago in the stars, destined to happen, destined to destroy mankind. I do not know what the others will do, but I must find shelter. I began to run, but my destination was unclear. I looked for anything that could shield me from the ongoing war, but I was losing hope. It was only a matter of time until I would succumb to death brought upon me by either God’s soldiers or Satan’s minions. I must hurry.
All I wished for was shelter, but instead I found something else. Something more sinister. Something more painful. I found death or more so death found me. I arrived at a bunker once occupied by the minions of death, I thought I was safe, I was wrong. Soon after entering I found a man who wore a long black robe and his face was shrouded behind a hood. He spoke a language unknown to me, but through his gestures I understood perfectly what his mission was. He walked toward me wielding a long staff with a crooked blade at the end of it. He reached out his hand and gripped my arm. His touch was cold and unwelcoming and almost instantly I felt my life leaving my body. This man had my soul, gripped with his icy touch. I had died, right then and there, my soul forever belonging to this man. His identity now became apparent to me. He was one of God’s angels. He was the Angel of Death and he now owned my very existence.
He took me to the place between the stars, not Heaven, but definitely not Hell, I didn’t know where we were but I didn’t really care, my soul was his and I would go wherever he took me. Eventually we reached his destination and stopped abruptly. He continued his silence, but lifted his hand and pointed into the distance. I looked and what I saw was something that my mind failed to comprehend. I saw Earth, I saw the unholy war raging on before my very eyes, but I was not in the middle of it, not anymore. I asked him what the meaning of this was, but his silence continued on. We sat there watching the war rage on. Angels killing demons and demons killing angels. A year passed and it felt like the war would never end. Perhaps soon it would, but it was still uncertain. I hoped that the man would finally tell me what the purpose of this was, but still no words left his mouth. My patience must continue on.
Many years have passed now and it appears the war is finally coming to an end. It has been approximately six hundred years and the Earth, once green and full of life, no longer bloomed, its soil now torn apart, and going from green to black. Its rivers once blue and full of life, now run with blood and misery. This was no longer my home, for it had been taken by death. Angels and demons no longer flooded the realm of my existence and I would finally be able to return, or at least that’s what I thought. The man, still accompanying me finally spoke. “Return home”, he spoke and with that he reached out his hand and in his palms rested a bright blue orb. “Take it” he said. I reached out and grabbed it and instantly life returned to my body. The force of the orb knocked me unconscious. “I’m sorry” the man said vanishing instantly, returning to his home, now with the lives of all the angels that fell in combat. The war was over and it was time for me to go home.
When I awoke, it was back on Earth, only something wasn’t quite right. The sky was blue and clouds were no longer black. Blood didn’t leak from the sky and the earth below me was covered in grass as green as it was before the apocalypse. I was astounded by the amount of life that surrounded me. I could see people off in the distance and could hear the laughter of children playing. I was no longer one of the forgotten, the were no forgotten, for all the lives that God raptured had been returned to this world, unharmed and unscathed by the war that raged for six hundred years. Life as we knew returned to us and it was the best feeling I ever felt. I was home, we were home, to forever flourish and help the world flourish. The man took my life, showed me a new view of the world, and then returned my life to me the way it was always meant to be. He helped me grow in a way I thought to be impossible, but now I know it to be true. I held a special place in my heart for the man and I wished him happiness for all eternity, but now it was time to continue my journey through life the way I was always meant to. War may never change, but it will always open your eyes to a new outlook on life. It will make you cherish it and love it in a way you never did before. War isn’t just human nature, for war is the nature of all living things.