I was choosing between two worlds
and made choice for the empty
space in-between;
can I bear
that demanding, sinking tug to
earth
and the mockery
physics plays
on form and style?
It must be nice
to float in shapeless expanse;
spiralling, and never entering,
across spherical burden.
It must be nice…
Until vertigo finishes its course,
and space freezes
your
long
dead
corpse
soon to be comfortably snuggled in a crater.
A smiling clown walks timid on tightened rope
And peers down thinking this day might be last;
The face of fear begs in frightened hope
As relentless laughter demands to move fast!
When the clown’s descent endows
The eyes with moment of great fall,
Boom! Goes Death, and humour bows
On knees bruised to crawl.
The crowd,
Sunken deep in whatever is felt
by fleeting grief,
Remarks: “He was a fool; it was to be a
Sudden leap that would make
his living brief!”
And so, from the first to this last fall,
Death makes a Comedy of us all.
Some choices
are rightfully decided
on great thoughts of gold,
but by actions blighted:
no similar story told.
Other choices, although maligned,
are means
to ends
deemed most kind.
But by the shining of a moment
awareness is afforded,
leaving the most secure actors
in acts contorted.
So, the dark,
in all its magnanimity
plays our secret muse,
for acts would not be
if light fully shown
on what we choose.
And I wanted danger in clashes of violence,
to break comfort with the frightened awareness rewarded from no reversing.
And I craved a madness where Pain would sculpt soft edges sharp
and rust shine proudly on spirit well-traversing.
And from the engine of a heartbeat cast a smog so dense it polluted the sun itself and the whole world became tarred with my choices that wrought it so thoroughly into my now swarming nature;
and I!
Wanted nothing at all but adventure onto death.
Travelling through a trail enlightened;
surely, many rewards to be gained
when led in hope and un-frightened,
but the longer the roads,
the heavier hope grows
and soon needs to be shed;
or else the path, turned laborious,
may leave a traveller misled,
and prospect of reward, now spurious,
can render all the goals dead.
Those restless moments before sleep have a-blazed tonight And from four corners drew a room wherein A flicker of sense and 2 gallons of heated emotion Spilled into the most craving cavity. To wake up, to disappear from illusion As if curse enlightened some inner truth of character; Certainly, a tender meat luring animals inching closer To better hear harmonies of sentiments pulsing. I am not satisfied, now wanting, wherein wanton Becomes of me in forced flight, And left as if altitude stranded what is most heavy, Which by another name... Steady, rich, fertile; such are properties of An earth where a predator searches, yearns To be scorched, scorned, adorned With the presence of those things that cause a pressure Forceful enough to advance onto living futures, Or the most alluring prey. In violence, struck and crossed, etched a mark on wood, On paper a pool of ink, for that ancient story blessed a symbol; Engraved a line between two sides maintained by Fragile power; A tempo dances to new fear, hope, love, hate. To deny them and yet to also give life all the same; It's that which truth and corruption, Haunted and hunted, damn silently by name: The heart.
I have a place kept locked; where your shadow contains my hidden movements. Unknown to you, I rest there, waiting, perhaps playing in the anticipation of un-concealment. I'm hoping you sense the activity of wonder through the tone of my voice when I'm speaking of all the things you hold dear - the things I'm hoping will be in your power to destroy. Slowly the clockwork ticks into resolve, directing the cogs in new alignment, ticking down the hierarchy between me and you. But soon.. That bastard, that bastard! The wilderness- that breathing, dreaming one keeps traces of me in laughter, love, hate, and always, always, repeating. Repetition - that blasted relief. The dark spot, the one held for me, no longer holds your comforts. All has left, as was expected. But what has been kept? Deep, beautiful becoming. For what you were unaware was a signing of a contract to make you not a person but a process, in flux.
Sealed in a passage Bearing hallowed name; The highest blood Privileges one to attain The shine of a mechanism And its demand of respect; Blessed by secret passions For the cursed elect; Hopeful for the quick grace Of sharp victory, While the chambers are without their monarch Who capsized fortune In the sea of history. Play now with absolved steps, small spirit; Your unbound labour shapes character, Offering breath to fiction's eager ghost; And to those bloated with misfortune, Therefore drowning in dark cravings: The narrators provide stories of past honour To stay afloat through courage Only afforded by mystery; Indeed, none better can so swim In what orators give to war and misery. The new masters replaced the garden's tree; With captured fruit Curiosity grew another In aimless ancestry; The new breed also sprouts and ripens In this strange but blighted Arcadia, Where they will be called monsters According to laws Ready for them to rebel, And where is the sleeping God? It has been excised as well. Thus the church bells ring in hollowed tones; Barren, hungry - Gorging on responsibility, They choke as if they've swallowed bones. The crushing strength held Onto such delicate conviction- It is Truth that bears This most hidden vice, And this they dearly harbour Beyond shallow paradise, And even farther From haunted Golgotha; Hence, the new resolute will: Building an endless bridge, Conquering distance en route nihil. If you had the knowledge, small spirit, Would you continue? For your motivation will interpret the future earth, But it will be far From the origin within you.
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