Beauty is in the hand of the suitor?
Groom to the wondrous world.
Coupled with harm and guilt,
This man, sheds no tear when blood is spilt,
But what can eyes do, without tears?
What path must he choose in the twilight.
If there be no ground for him to tread,
How should he conquer his foe?
Or rather, how was it done on such notice,
As he is at the cusp of his opportunity,
He has no bounds to break free,
For he sought no greater challenge to overcome.
Drumming his fingers on the scalp of The Impossible;
Scribbling the name on the skull of his last nemesis,
He bows to no sun and he howls to no moon,
Soon he will realize that he is to bow to no man.
He is neither beast nor god, neither is he spirit.
He can never realize what he is, for he loves a woman.
She keeps him tethered to this world.
She cries for all the blood that he has spilt.
She nurses his conquered, and she holds his soul.
It is the pain that he never feels, that she bears,
Which spurns her to love him and him to love her.
He has found mercy in his realm of bloodshed,
Under the loving embrace of mercy,
He realizes he is a man, for he has hope.
He could not find mercy if he were not a man,
For it is the nature of man to find mercy.
That is to say, he that does not find mercy;
Is no man.
In that moment, weakness is perceived.
Enemies conspire and in their unrest,
Tirelessly proceed to assume control of his might.
They steal her away and spill her blood in lust.
Disemboweling all in the world that he loves.
For power twists the mind; inflames the soul.
However they know not what they have done.
When they killed the woman they killed mercy,
Attempting to injure the man,
But he was no man, and when they killed mercy,
The monster no longer felt concern for the innocent.
No more were mercy's tears present to quell his rage.
The palace crumbles in a shower of glittering red.
Blood, jewels and fire careening forth across the land.
His wrath unopposable, and his defiance of life absolute.
Nothing of worth remained in the wake of his destruction.
He wouldn't stop at nothing until nothing remained.
Concurrently upon the last day,
Under the last sunrise,
Before the last rays of light,
In the last seconds leading up to the last moment,
One question remained giving him enough pause,
To cause the inevitability of existence persistence,
For no man is greater than the inevitable
And no man hath the power enough to end the world,
By any measure of his importance or abandon.
He faced the only question he could never answer.
"What am I?"
Another ruby from my vault of treasures.
I need to build up the momentum that I had gained before I wrote this.
In other words, something stopped me along the way to now. I won't explain, what, but pray it never happens to you.
Regardless, being in a much better place, I feel capable of writing poems like this once again. It will take some time, maybe years, but I'll reach that point where the "effortless" grasp on my skill will be as if one wields a sword with one's tongue and a shield with one's breath.
Time will only tell if I can surpass my old bounds, but I believe it's more than possible.
I probably won't even notice when it happens, because I'll be too busy writing until my fingers disintegrate on my keyboard like a worn out eraser with my fingers flashing like spider legs (lovely imagery there, haha!).
I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did when rediscovering it.
Take care :)
