Dec 18, 2011, 05:13 PM
Group: Basic Member
Joined: Dec 13, 2011
Member No.: 33841
through hell, which punishes with such madness sent.
this unnerving displeasure strips our mad kings,
to appear to you naked, exposed, vulnerable.
Did we not set table once with such fine fair?
The scraps now thrown to dogs appear as feasts.
The storm winds torment our very soul, this soul, aching,
aching soul, cold black holes thrashing the storm,
Subtle and yet fragile, struggling, to fly, tumbling,
Down, down, always down.
Our flesh and blood have grown so vile, this devil
that long has given pursuit and persistent endeavor,
Seek not your rewards from this malignant mind
But stead steals the purses of those that sent them
for in their cold charity lies a hateful purpose,
whilst saying prayers to cast out our demons,
a burning crucifix flaming upwards in the night.
ever waiting for the insane laughter of the joker
ever listening for the wagons on cobbled stone
and as a butterfly caught I tear my wings and fall..
judged for failing to forecast this doom when fortified,
armed with the knowledge given by our mad kings
our gaunt witches that cackled and pranced,
hum drum while demonic clouds hovered above
Smelling ever more, ever stronger of decadent decay
Oh bitter fruit soaked in vinegar to drink mingled with gall:
to taste thereof, will we not drink to quench a parched soul?
While pretentious players preoccupied in selling self -virtue
for their selfish pursuit of pleasure, stick to a masters plan,
thing were never that easy to understand on this hallowed eve
but i tried and hoped, prayed, screamed, and cried…..
The wounds cut from first to last, from the great warriors,
celebration in the glory of victory and inglorious defeats
while we shackled slaves squealed like pigs at slaughter
fattened and hung on hooks, dangling down, alway down
will you not be victim? Will you yet be a casualty of this farce?
will our mad kings,queens, jokers, priests and warriors
live to regret the words left said and unsaid to slaves?
No more: when all thats been done, we need to breathe,
to drown the heavens, to heal these weeping wounds
slashed, whipped and disjointed by their own insanity
dripping inkblot blood on paper, as the very poets
screamed for mercy, to soften the gaudy din
while the angels voices hung limp & unresponsive
My heroes wandering, where are you now?
As a cold morning mist swallows the earth,
creeping in this eerie silence upon the fields
the opaque air hanging deep on the lowlands.
a composed crispness crushing any caring.
In these hours before eve, dawn awaits in darkness,
a sable sheets stained with swarming semiotics
a rumbling writhing, wrestling for pride of place
as the ticking of life passes so very slowly by,
unsympathetic with its everlasting unyielding.
The life blood of our teachers is wasted on the soil,
no more will spirits seek understanding or knowledge
for i can see no valiant heroes, only void imaginings,
the cardboard cut-outs and comic book crusaders,
contemptuous caricatures, leering, mocking..
Unforgiving times, headwind gales blowing,
while the butterflies try to ensnare the winds
and thus the morning does begin, renewed.
Oh teacher, take me with you on your voyage,
my spirit is in needing of this darkened dawning,
The frost is bitter, atop our cement towers,
cold snow, reflecting the last blush of darkness,
as the angles heralded the morning with a caress.
Oh life enslaved, take me with you on your voyage,
mend bleeding russet tears from my wounded eyes,
Soothsayers riding pale horses into the showering glow,
self-righteous cock-crow, thrice refused by the firelight,
now will this sign disperse the darkness of night?
Oh bitter truth; take me with you on your voyage,
as i surrender gently into the ever expanding void.
To be arouse from this banquet, King of Kings
awakening from a slumbering stupor with surprise
an inducement of hemlock, monkshood and mandrake;
crafted thieves to mock poor slaves, to steal the soul,
to take from these chained hounds their wit and worth
conceived expressionless from the hangmans loins,
this hallmark of a divinity blessed by tainted tincture.
Think not that I am blinded by these guests in guise,
bearing the trapping of authority and arrangement
abrupt motifs designed to impress lesser slaves.
Think not I need eyes to see their deceit or motive,
and yet my desire is to tend to gardens overgrown
turning aside from the madness of this cupped hemlock;
to soon rouse my muse from these human betrayals.
I seek the undemanding gardens; haven for butterflies,
where all of aught will lay together, lamb with wolf
and the simple teachers tend to weeds and poisons,
ever waiting for the awaking eyes of nature.
eyes engraved from the stone of truth
where my heart shall fly away to be at your command,
to cleanse my sins with an overpowering benevolence.
Do not ask the stars or moon above, blue mere to gaze,
for the beauty of life reflects outward from understanding
for one fine moment, one magnificent, climactic spit second,
and thus to fade into the beauty of your sweet auburn eyes…..
speak softly, silently, in a symphony of seductive sighs
stroke gently my cymbal, drinking cup of cupids desire
i will await forever in the delicate grail autumn equinox
i genuflect before you naked, stripped of ceremonies
clothed merely by the tenderness of your reassurance,
my cherished love, shadow figurine calling me
to fly from the torment of our persecutors.
Speak, speak, and gather your voice to be heard
above the festive din; speak long and thunderous..
your words shall herald this dawning...
the feasting grows weary and spent,
our guests now mingle in minuscule cloisters
nourished on these fattened sweetmeats..
The library has been overcooked, manuscripts,
page on page burnt to roast the suckling pigs...
The bones piled high; picked clean....
Bleached but yet blackened
now brittle by the yoke of our honored guests
unmoving no more but seeming to dance,
mandolin, cymbal, panpipes and drums
fitting minstrels for our skeletal troupe
the drums hammer hammer hammer.....
with an incessant hammering...
Will we gather in the fear of death?
or soon rage unaccompanied at the gates.
shall we be inclined to cast the dying and dead
onto the death carts clattering on the drawbridges,
and in a sharp sigh, will you turn and leave me too
The darkness now comes into the fading light
where once light by man and angels seen,
came to slumber in olden, unenvied dreams,
a pale cherub casting down bleeding eyes in sorrow,
watching over a mortal coil of dreams made flesh
with all the suffering of this earth trapped within.
but wait....in the dull light of dawn.....
Unannounced and unnoticed
guests of another guise;
Kafka, Peake, Hesse and Vonnegut,
Heralds, as the last bells ring out
awaking all from this gloomy slumber
to rejoin the winds of reason and remorse.
Shadowy spirits that spoke once
now seek again to show the truth;
for this cup of kindness parched with salt
and the cold shadows of despair,
will brandish the flame of hope
I now fly from these chains leaving nothing.....
blasting into a celestial awakening,
and in my wake, falling, crumbling remnants
of this deception covered by this vast plume;
down, down, always down....
engulfed in a shimmering kaleidoscope of butterflies....
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