Sojourn

And in this space there was a time of raging curiosity. I walked a line, bedraggled time of all its saints and sinners. And harrowed down it shuffled off mumbling incoherencies; of childish pride and foolish game and trivial pursuits. Left alone I sauntered off to woods lush and deep, and sought to find some piece of mind in a lost path to lead me far and wide.

A misbegotten attempt at getting lost proved fatal, and so I sat a while starring in the pool with Narcissus. We drank some wine and laughed remembering well-worn follies. After a head first dive we floated on the darker streams of being and chatted up Ophelia, who somehow proved a king. And in the shadowy abyss we sat before her throne; of black pearls, agate, onyx and obsidian stone while she reigned high above with her glimmering crown of sapphire and hematite.

The sights we saw, the games we won, The Carnival of Dark Delights – was ours a time in merriment and well deserved escape. And in the deepest tresses of my soul did stir a lust for wandering. And so I bid ado, to friends and lovers alike, and with well wishes and promises of return left in the middle of the night.

A sojourn with nocturnal creatures, pale and full of fire, we laughed at the worlds creation of the vampire. We paid the ferryman to cross the river Styx, and I peered often over board to query the deceased on all the things that they had learned and their old memories. Upon reaching land we ventured off into the realms of hell, to visit Hades and sit and talk a spell. He told us marvelous stories of long lost enchanting things, and dazzled us with treasure unlike any we had seen.

We traveled through the orchards of luscious pomegranate, and picked and ate our fill until the stains were dark. We danced with both his wife and mistress who held sweet secrets of their own, and bequeathed fine trinkets for our journey home. The festival we had to admire was both dark and bright as black fire and burned us to exhaustion. So with our carts of gifts we slumbered as we rode into the realms of vivid familiarity, safe in the stewardship of Hermes and his staff.

Rebirth

I have come to the stunning conclusion that not all peace is good and not all lies are bad. It would seem that some things you think you know never seem to show all of themselves until you are so sure you have the meaning that it all crumbles down in a catastrophic cacophony of “WTF?” and you are left sitting there amongst the shambles of your own wrong conclusions. I write it off to my insatiable curiosity that I find these moments refreshing.

Buddhists say that every mistake is a new beginning – and if so then I would have to say that I have been granted more than most. And if that is so – then how would one allot the karmic retribution? Am I living through my hells even as I create them? And then there is the matter of reincarnation – can one live more than one life while ones body has yet to cease? Are we too narrow minded when we think that this matter of re-birth is something that takes years to capitalize on – or are we capable of expanding the way the universe does, not in mere miles but in growth of planets and galaxies and the life therein.

I am an artist and thereby a martyr, doomed to suffer at the hands of my crowd whether they choose to set me free or see me flayed alive. So are artists always martyrs and that said are martyrs always artists? Now don’t get me wrong, I suffer no grandiose illusions and hold no court with Jesus or Joan; but there are martyrs and Martyrs, heroes and Heroes, a subtle hint that separates the everyday from that of epic stature.

Do we need to be broken down and torn apart to get that new beginning? And if so how far does it have to go, how far gone do we have to be before we see what we were missing all along? Are all breakdowns merely the winters in our lives – the period where we are so barren and stripped of it all that the numbness is a welcome sensation while our souls slumber waiting for the fresh breath of spring. Or are the breakdowns themselves the winter, and the aftermath where we sit staring at all the things we’ve taken for granted in an entirely new light that new life of spring?

Maybe the fountain of youth isn’t some gurgling spring, but the sensation perpetrated by starting over. Maybe eternity is granted in the mistakes we make.

Some Secret Sin Crept Upon My Lips And Unwittingly I Uttered The Utterly Reprehensible…

I raged silent against a violent world. All of it sticky remorse and translucent pain. So unsure and yet secure and well aware. My heart picks up a notch. The slightly unnoticeable flush betraying the giddy up of a rhythmic enthused muscle. A light in the eyes evinces and undermines the rest. Marbled body- cold, unyielding steel mimicry. Vampiric ancient a statued self but somewhere within blood rushes. Hot pooled seduction rushing through cable systems working a little too efficiently.

You only smile at them. I’m screaming – quiet, quiet, shh – and the silence of it fills volumes. A polite grimace is all I’m bequeathed but I snatch. Child of Ethiopia with a steak. The slightest hint of recognition and nuclear reaction causes this cold star to burn hot. Chameleon black to vivid red.

Burn with a yearning futile as a child building a tower to heaven. Tears like acid carve hot trails along marble — canyons in wake. I’m only breathing to see if you notice. Curious. Hurt. Wanting. Hating, loathing, impeaching every notion. I see you look at them, watch them, converse with them, touch them, smell them. Green eyes veiled, still as prey. Angst climbs tendons like electric charging batteries. Frozen in the instant–beg for an ending far away as Armageddon. I’m lost in my own iron tranquility and my silver tongue slit my throat long ago. Soft sighs mock the cries I make that cannot escape my python throat.

Velvet lashes flick liquid diamonds swiftly from traitorous doorways. Hard to breath in the vice grip of self control but I’ve learned naught else. I’m bursting expanding rushing racing to fill all directions. Thundering madness out and away, anywhere but here. I can’t bear to move –to leave–

Silent fingers grip like springs wound tight, steel twisted–clenching vicious. Clutch it, huddle closer. Pain swirls and encircles and strangles that bastard that keeps beating after long requited silence.

How do you fix what you can’t change. I regret not being what you want. I regret not being what you need. I regret being here. I regret – being. And I huddle in awe and fear, pain is sweet lust and I let it linger while your near. You’re palpable as I ache starvation.

I stumble unable to convey the idea so simple its infinitely complex. Light candles to your memory even as I make plans to see you on the marrow. Plans you’ll never know about because you’ll never notice me beyond the passing glance. A gift I’ll cherish even as you regret descending your gaze upon me. Odd scents promulgate the burning flesh as I caress the flame lost in imagery vivid with you. Red poppy among the sea of clover. I’m [grasping, grabbing, rushing] for the safety while eagerly falling into your desire.

A rush to open that red door only to find the light within marks the emptiness of time and space without some semblance of you. Violent angry rush boldly streaks black upon it. Bury the desire– a betrayal of myself.

I will never have you because I can never be what you desire and I’ve nothing left. How stranglely hollow filled with your emptiness. Awe struck and breathless.

Wishing an eternity of this.

Welcome Burn

Violent quakes of curiosity
Erupt electric sparks
Spinal xylophone tunes
Creating symphonies felt
Supernova white blinding
Rush in
Crushing suffocating
Burrow rabbit quick deeper
Welcome burn
Fire cool to caress
Eternally phoenix death
Burn on