Page 4
Realities
One or two,
Just a few,
Not that much,
All that and such,
What's mine to be,
Is mine to see,
It will, be upon my will,
And yet still,
I intake the swill,
For no other choice have I,
Banished from the others that fly,
Their home in the clouds above,
Wings of beauty like the dove,
Then when push comes to shove,
Prepare for what is, stand tall and stout,
No known reasonable doubt,
Around and, and again,
You must feign,
Who you are,
Really isn't who you will turn out to be,
You shall see,
What is mine to be,
Then you shall cower in your shoes,
Understand others views,
Realize what has been done,
Turn now and run,
Since you've had your fun.
To Go On
One way today,
Another tomorrow,
We live with our sorrow,
And yet we still go on,
Happy thoughts,
Always reminiscing,
Never thinking of what we're missing,
And yet we still go on,
Life's to short to let it waste away,
And still I look forward to the day,
That we shall say,
No further into the future I go,
Today is the day live for,
No further do I wish to go on.
Being
Questions, thoughts, assumptions,
Brings me to the same conclusions,
Loneliness, pain, frustration,
This is my occupation,
Where to go now,
Wish to know how,
Question why,
Thought lie,
Assumption none,
Out with my gun,
Disturbed am I,
Time to die,
Loneliness all around,
Pain to be found,
Frustration from anticipation,
My minds creation.
Inevitable
Another day goes by,
And still the angels cry,
We ask ourselves the question why,
That one day everyone must die,
With exasperation, sigh,
Why must the pain go on,
Taking of the wounded fawn,
Why must the discourse and confusion continue,
Gnaw and chew through bone and sinew,
Knowing the inevitable,
Completely incapable,
For what must come, comes so able,
It reveals its cards upon the table,
And takes its reward,
To clear the board,
Then slices through that thin and delicate chord,
To once again, sheath its sword.
The Chase
Azure domed skies,
Scattered rust colored puffs,
Caking like drying blood to the canopy of forever,
The warmth and nipping chill,
The blinding pain of watching the unwatchable,
Descend its predestined arc,
Fooling all who dare to glimpse it,
By being eight minutes ahead of what we see,
That magnificent defier of space and time,
Passing with a silent roar beyond the horizon,
Feeling the last breath of warmth rush by,
Letting the chill take its place,
Burned streaking impression left to mar the vision,
\par Slowly fading away left to reveal,
The pinprick blue and white speckles,
Coating the blanket of night like a leopard,
Who wanders in the eternal hunt,
Chasing the blazing ball round and round,
Until it suddenly winks out,
Leaving only the eternal leopard with its ever changing coat.
Woe Be Had
Oh, agony of defeat,
Oh, torturer of souls,
Mastering my iniquities,
Dashing my hopes,
My own worst enemy,
My own best chance,
For salvation,
For redemption,
To forgive myself for such stupidities,
I can never do,
So a penance I must condemn unto myself,
So that I might get beyond this self-inflicted strife as man,
Woe unto he who is man,
And woe unto she who is woman and must deal with such beasts as
us driven by many an urge,
I can not apologize, nor will I, for all men,
But I beg your pardon on my account,
I must do that which I have never done,
In order to end my habitual agony,
I must somehow in myself find something to believe in,
So that I might at last end my indecision and my lack-heartedness
to things,
I must give myself the strength I lack,
I need to find a way to believe in myself,
So that I can at last have Faith in myself as I have in all other
things.
The red moon rising,
Cold orb shadowing the life,
Never known the day.
Drifting gently,
Like a leaf upon a stream,
To the East,
Hark,
I see a red moon arising,
Not unlike a dead hand issuing from the grave,
Bearing tidings of woes to come by way of bloodshed,
So doth bring the harolding battle,
The blood moon upon this eve,
And whereon the morn rises there shall be those who grieve,
Who have grieved before and shall forevermore,
For with this night of the moon in full,
Shall arise demons and the dead,
Wresting from their eternal sleep of torment,
To also awaken in their victims,
The fears that have always lain dormant,
For demons shall dance like devils among the living,
And the dead trying to replacethe void within by consuming the
souls of babes,
Terror shall run rampant,
And death without release will reign,
Bringing its eternal pain,
Forevermore a hell on Earth,
But only a day and a night is theirs to accomplish this,
And their shall be those who stand in their path,
Sacrificing their lives for the life of the world,
Before the manifest of evil is unfurled,
These are the few who've felt they've lost all,
So they have nothing to lose,
But everything to gain,
With eternity in a day and night,
These few good souls fight the good fight,
So on this eve of the moon of Hell,
Stay in home with doors and shutters bolted,
With a prayer on lips and faith in heart,
Just hold tight,
Hold on,
Keep the fight,
Til the dawn,
And there will be,
The triumph in which you seek,
From the sky, to the sea,
Harolding the bold and the meek,
The fall of the red moon.
A Game of
Sport
The chase,
The hunt,
Not the capture,
Is the thrill,
Not to kill,
Not to mame,
Just the inticing scent,
Rush of adrenaline,
And pounding heart,
Wondering,
Anticipating,
Will the catch,
Actually kill?
Oh such skill,
Is required,
When dealing with,
Such dangerous prey..............oh, predators,
As women.
Self Matyr
The failure of the world,
Is the failure of one soul,
What could be known,
Was refuted as conjecture,
What could be,
Was chastised as foolish dreams and hopes,
A savior of ones self,
Matyred to ones self,
And lost to dispair,
Greatest of things abused and neglected,
Like shadows passing into night,
Ones secret knowledge of the inner being,
With a hardened heart and fathomlessly empty soul,
The void that was, carries on,
To know the dream,
But never touch it,
To feel the breeze,
But never taste it,
To find her,
But to never have her,
The infinte cruelties,
Inflicted by ones ownself.
Everything
As One
I look to the ocean my brother,
And am carried by the earth my mother,
Hear the words of the wind my sister,
Am shined upon by the relentless glory of the sun my father,
And walk among the trees my cousins,
I climb the emensity of the ancient mountains my grandmothers,
Learning from and wacthing the agelessness of the stars my
grandfathers,
Find myself meandering through the hills my nieces,
Wading through the lakes and the rivers my step-brothers,
The praries and marshes,
Tundras and savanahs,
Chasms and vallies,
Tree sitters,
Ground roamers
Sky flyers,
Water soarers,
All about me,
All within me,
All a part of me,
A part of it all.
"Epoch
Wheel"
In the beginning all was dark,
The soul was the blackest of deep,
Vast in its irridescent minniscularity,
Grand in its anonyminity,
The nothing of everythingness,
Infinite potiential to Be,
Across the face of the deep shimmered,
A cacophony of mother-of pearl,
An awareness awakened,
Bringing change and order to the homagany,
Thus was the beginning of being,
And the Wheel turned,
The ages began,
The great clockwork intoned its ignition,
So the first age began,
Known to none but the creator,
The dreamer,
For there was none but the All,
It was dubbed the age of the awakening,
And the Wheel turned,
The age past,
The great clockwork intoned the rise of a new age,
A second age arose,
As matter was concieved,
Congealed,
Accumulated,
As there was a grand concussive blast,
Of what became shards of light scattered accross the freshly born
cosmic winds,
And the Wheel turned,
The age past,
The great clockwork intoned the birth of a new age,
Arising in the midst of a billion upon a billion days scattered
about,
Was a host of the one,
Each a shard of the entire,
But alone its own crystal,
Born of the shattering to serve,
They served,
Seeing that all was forming properly,
Thus, came the territories of the countless planetoids and
satellites,
And the Wheel turned,
The age past,
The great clockwork intoned the discord of a new age,
A number of the host who serve,
Grew weary and tired of servitude,
So sought to rule instead,
So there was a great battle fought and won,
Hence a number of the number were slew,
And the remainder cast away,
To brood over their humilliation,
For a moment all was still,
Then all was as it was yet never again the same,
And the Wheel turned,
The age past,
The great clockwork intoned the dawn of a new age,
Upon the great masses set to orbit the perpetual days,
Were ungated the waters of birth,
From these waters came the seeds of growth,
So upon the worlds,
Upon the lands and seas life flourished,
And the host of the heavens saw to their tending,
And the Wheel turned,
The age past,
The great clockwork intoned the marshalling of a new age,
From the simpler life struggled the rise,
Of the first species,
Who roamed abroad and inhabitted the farthest reaches,
From these forms of the soils,
To the shapes of the seas and the designs of the air,
The multitudes multiplied,
And the Wheel turned,
The age past,
The great clockwork intoned the coming of a new age,
With great mystery beyond conception,
And painstaking effort,
Was molded a special image,
From the creatures of the soil,
Bestowed a great honor and priviledge,
To bear a soul likened unto that of the creators,
With the propensity to guide, watch, and assist,
Thus became the dawning time of humankind,
And the Wheel trurned,
The age past,
The great clockwork intoned the time of a new age,
With magnificent mechnitions built by humankind,
They plowed forth a furrow of advancement,
Striking down and changing any in their path,
Indescriminently, enexasterbatingly, enexorably,
What they touched was never the same,
For good or ill,
From the waters of birth, the air about, to the heavens above,
So thorough was their reign of abuse,
And the Wheel turned,
The age past,
The great clockwork intoned the wreaking of a new age,
So with repecussions of such deeds,
They reapt what they had sown,
Disliking the bitter-foul taste of disgrace,
A few saw through to the light,
And with the many religions all glorifying the creator or aspects
of its nature,
For that is all the mortal mind can stand,
Which saddened the creator in the whole, but infused it with a
subtle joy that its creations could grasp its many intricate
identities,
But alas a new religion was formed for the reformation of what
was,
To preserve and resurrect all that is nature,
Even themselves as a piece of it,
At last they began to arise to their anointed positions as
ordained,
But perhaps to late,
And the Wheel turned,
The age past,
The great clockwork intoned the question of a new age.
Skyward
The rising cliffs of an immense propensity,
Staggering the mind and piquing the imagination,
Filling ones sight from ground to heavens,
Stretching out to infinity and obscurity,
The solid form of the insubstantial floats silently and
enexorably on,
Encroaching upon the dazzled watcher,
Who daydreams of running along the bumpy and bulbous edge,
Of rolling down its vast hills into the vallies which lie barely
beyond sight,
And of sinking gently into the white fluff which must be like the
fresh warm mornings dew,
To fly into and through that Himalayin-like cliff,
And feel the winds lift and propel you through that cottony fog,
' Til you burst through to its surface like a breaching whale,
Onto the plains and vallies ensconced by an endless blue,
And bathed in a radiant light never known to those below,
And to stroll quietly among this world of dreams and faeries,
For just a walk among the clouds.
Why
Why, wherewith, there is all,
That all could be all, and yet nothing at all,
Why within the soul, the flame that burns, burns itself out,
Or perhaps consumes all in its fury or greed,
Why the heart can beat for everything that is all, but its own,
Why must one go on?, to live through all, and obtain all that we
can,
Why is that the pain of all misery outweighs the pain of all
physicality,
Why is their pain beyond any pleasure, beyond any and all hope?
Why do we go on?, to endure all woes and strifes, with an
occaisional pleasure to make it all better,
Why do we hope for all in our times of need and dispair,
Why do we believe there is someone there to listen or care about
it all?
Why are there those who believe there's no one at all?
For all, and all , why?
With Reason
I have found that we walk without seeing,
That we speak before thinking beforehand,
That we act before considering consequences,
And we blunder,
And fumble,
And fuss,
Through an existence we try to direct into a life,
The results of the series of choices we make,
Always the cause of our dismay, and others consternation,
The flippant gestures of ones iniquities becoming the facecious
motions of ones idiosyncracies,
Biting bitterly into the souring grape of this our "life",
One tries as to the best of their abilities,
Usually with only empty half intent,
To survive.
Rising
Before the Dawn
Time pass sorrow,
Where is the morrow,
Late in eve,
Early in morn,
To find a new scorn,
Rising unrefreshed,
To wade through the tepid dew,
Struggling about rituals knew,
To prepare for the dawning day,
With hopes of reprieve from the "norm",
In comes the storm,
To cleanse all that is soiled,
And renew an old path,
Long since gone askew,
Sluggish meandering round and round,
' Til once composed to the path, to set foot,
Walking the well known and trodden trail,
Never coming to its end,
Nor finding any conclusion,
For the ritual is renewed,
Witht the cycle of the day.
Non
Realization
Do you concede,
Do you bleed,
To know your own mortality,
Does your heart,
Beat in time,
Or are you alone,
As you wail and moan,
By the last breath,
Of the last day,
When steps from the shadows.........death,
Are you ready,
To tread the path,
Alone, and yet, somehow not,
Being an insignificant,
Yet integral part of the entirety,
And so then you are wakened,
To the dream that you are,
The believer,
And the believed in.
Harbinger
of Sorrow
As the rain falls on by,
It collects the soul drop by drop,
Dropping and splattering upon the forsaken soil,
......Harbinger,
............Harbinger of sorrow,
Forging your path through all things known,
The bitter salty sting,
Biting into parched pursed lips,
Idly coalescing and trickling away,
Left to reveal the remains of decay,
Forbearer,
Like a stalking merchant you peddle your wares,
Taking in trade all remaining cares,
And who......
.........Who dares,
.................Defy this scout,
..............This messenger,
Of barren plains,
And false misdoubt,
The faceless fiend,
Who tears down quickly,
What was lovingly and painstakingly,
Built up,
This the Page with its caravan of woes.
Journeyman's
Shrouded Path
Today,
The light,
Has shown too bright,
Upon the way,
Above the path,
Beyond the wrath,
With nothing to say,
How to,
Go down,
The path,
Without the frown,
One must now do,
What must be done,
For all and one,
To believe in you,
So why,
You ask,
We take this task,
And shout a cry,
Of how this light,
Has grown in might,
For woe is we,
Who forget pasts,
And run to our dooms.
Awakening the Revelation
The blackness that consoles,
Is the blackness that consumes,
Vicious voids hungrily encroach upon the warmth and emotions in the depths of ones soul,
Enveloping ones true inner essence insatiably in a blanket of emptiness,
Distanced from all cares, wants, and needs,
Dwelling solely in an oblivion of ones own minds making,
Dies slowly the virgin heart of innocence, purity, and naiveté,
The child of the past mourned and longed for with a yearning known to none but the keeper of the child,
The loneliness strikes deep and true like a barbed blade piercing ones blackened heart,
The chilled empty soul writhes in its own agony, master of its own demise,
Bringer of ones own hate and putricity struggles the intent of ones good will versus the blakened souls
malignance,
Surprising one in all of a sudden, in a furious fight that never happened,
That one lost for all times sake, the blind hope, faith, and truths of youth.
Thank you for spending the time to read and
hopefully enjoy my work!
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