2003 began as a wonderful year, but quickly degenerated during the spring into one of the worst. It is obvious that all I wrote before the end of April, barring two, are missing; anyone who knows me at all will understand why this is so. If you don't know, don't ask; I'm not apt to get into it.
Most of these are decidedly unhappy poems. But for me, 2003 was mostly a decidedly unhappy year. What happy poems I did write were composed during the first quarter of the year, and for various reasons I have now pretty much chosen to ignore their very existence. This has not been easy, considering that February and March of 2003 were some of the happiest days of my life. What happened later still hurts, though, and memory brings little solace, so I choose to try and forget.
January 15, 2003
17:40
"Stormshadow"
Dreams haunt my hours and sleep comes not with ease.
A storm is rising, west above the plains,
With icy fury readied for the strike.
The bitter winds destroy the chilly calm
And breathe their hint of madness through the trees,
Whose branches bare in winter's core are stark
Against an iron sky. And so it comes.
A shadow lies upon my mind, a wraith
Whose form I cannot fathom while I wake.
But when in sleep I lie he howls in rage
And, horror in my heart, I cannot rest.
Some demon dark and mighty he must be.
This fear is fluid, slipping through my grasp
And vanishing before my searching eyes.
But when I turn my head a flash I sense
Behind, below, above-and, too, within.
Black is the dawn to end a crimson night,
And day is muted, pale and washed of hue,
Then even comes, her mien a mournful shade.
Before the snows a mist arises grey
And cold as is the hand of Death herself.
It lingers on the skin, and shivers come.
Ice falls, and all the world to crystal turns,
While close behind the raging tempest's scream
Makes ready all its arms to signal war
And change the land to desolation's pride.
The snows descend. Time slows, and Earth grows white.
No life is in this place, none but the Void
Which breathes as like a living thing. Devoured
Is all the warmth of sun and fire. Destroyed
Are joy and laughter. Heart and soul are damned.
There's something to be said of death's domain.
March 25, 2003
"An Hour to Spare"
If I had an hour, an hour to spare,
I'd kneel before my mother's grave,
And kiss the soil where now she lay,
And pray with tears upon my face...
If I had an hour, an hour to spare,
I'd sit in quiet thought, and smile,
And ponder what my future holds,
As down the wearied path I go...
If I had an hour, an hour to spare,
I'd laugh, and cry, and taste the wind
Upon my lips, and in my hair,
And close my eyes before the storm...
April 29, 2003
23:56
"Light Falls"
April ends, and the fire draws low. The flame
That gave light and heat in winter's core
Diminishes, and grows cold, and soon is only ash.
But all fires must die. To every dawn there is
A night, and to every summer an autumn.
Even the Sun will one day become nothing
More than a cinder, lifeless in the empty void.
In every life, there is death. But in death, there
Is the promise of new life. It's just the way of things.
I do not claim to understand it.
The world changes; it is changing right now.
The sea beats against the shore, and wears it into sand.
Continents collide, and mountains are born.
On these plains, my home, winds howl like demons,
Driving before them the hand of destruction,
While below and unknowing of this, seeds quicken
In the soil, towards the amber bounty to come.
The wind feels a little chillier today, and the clouds
Are a little more grey. The water in the street pulses
With a menacing quality, and all else is silent.
I know these streets like I know my own hand.
Their rhythm beats in time with my heart, the throb
In my veins echoes their joys, and their hurts.
But I would have left, torn my heart away from them,
If I had needed to. And now, again, I stay. But do the
Streets know that I may have left them? And if I had to
Again, would they care? I feel somehow disconnected
From the world tonight. It is as if this is all a dream
And I cannot awaken. It has seemed this way for
Many days…since that one, brief spark of glory
That was the best week of my life. Since then, since
I returned back home, life has felt different. It is
Like holes within me were filled, holes I knew not
Before, but now they are closed, and new holes open,
And my soul feels strange, neither a part of this world
Nor severed from it. I look at the stars, and their beauty
Makes me smile, but also as I gaze upwards it feels like
It is not me who is looking, but someone else. As if these
Eyes I stare through are not my own. This demon inside
Me rears its ugly head yet again. I tried to slay him,
But I am weak, and he returned. I am weak, and the light
Falls from me for this. Perhaps I have tarried too long
At the edge of the Abyss, gazed into its depths for so long
That I can no longer stay my feet from carrying me in.
Its baleful eyes are upon me, looking through mine and
Into my demon's heart, calling us with song to come and
Feast. And I would fight this, but I am weak. And I would
Run, but my lungs cannot carry me. And I would pray, but
My soul is unclean. The light falls from me, and I am dark.
But maybe I always was.
00:47
04-30-03
April 30, 2003
15:27
"Darkling"
Not immortality is mine
But some pale shadow, cold and drear,
That flows from out this coward's spine
And blocks the sun in all my fear.
I live as always have I done,
Forgotten here, and lone to weep
As monsters make my feet to run
And nightmares rape me in my sleep.
Forgotten here, to breathe still more,
To never die, to never fade,
I never pass Death's sable door
Nor come to lie in Heaven's glade
Nor Hell's consuming crimson fire.
I linger on, yet never thrive,
A slave to hurt, a thrall to ire.
Whatever comes I will survive
But bear no joy in living hence.
For where is glee, when all is dark?
A bitter taste, a foul incense
Wafts o'er this sad and dampened spark.
All I survive, and nothing slays
This mortal heart, though die it would.
These wretched nights and darkling days
Encompass me like some fell hood.
My soul is stained, my blood unclean,
These thoughts creating naught but dread.
No noble I, but pauper mean
With almost-madness in my head.
What deeds do I for this commit?
What sin of mine such penance draws?
What crime has marked me so unfit
To neither die nor shear my flaws?
15:55
April 30, 2003
13:29
"Metal"
The pounding in my ears is incessant, and of my choosing.
Hard music, dark lyrics, visions of demons and human pain-
A reflection of what the real world is like. Suffering is no
Thing of mist, to be ignored or downplayed as the foolish
Words of a stubborn child. Evil is not to be dismissed as
The mad ravings of religious fanatics. It is real, and it is
Here inside me, where lies my own little demon, he who
Gazes through my eyes and laughs in his sprightly
Malevolence. It is in each of us, calling, clawing, lying
In wait for our too mortal hearts and minds to give
An opening from whence it may strike. It beats at
The gates of our collective soul, while each one of us
Struggles vainly to hold their part of the fortress wall.
But this fortress is made of human brick, and imperfect,
And sooner or later we shall fall to the dark. For in this
Battle we are seemingly alone, and even if we were not
What allies we might gain we push away in our pride,
In our subservience to whim and pleasure. We live, and
Love, never knowing that we are soldiers in a war, a
War we cannot see with living eyes, but with immortal
Souls alone. What holy things there are we would deny,
What rules of divine law we would hold as ancient, and
Long without meaning, and ever the while the devils
Scratch and bite at the stones of our rampart, until they
Crack. Truth is not pleasant. Truth is not something to
Bring joy and celebration. It is a thing of fear, and terror,
An all-consuming flame that leaves none unburned, in
The end. And it cannot be concealed with a happy
Façade of bouncy tunes and feel-good words, dancing
Rhythms to give pleasure, or whimsical notes of naïve
Affection. No, truth is harsh, and loud, and grinding,
And music that reflects truth must likewise be. Truth is
Not like gold, to be indicative of power, nor is it silver,
Magical and evocative of unearthly things. No, it is
Iron, hard, and black, and brittle, but with an edge
To razor through the thickest skin and the hardiest
Skull. It is nasty, it is dirty, and it is painful to hear.
But we who shout it will be quiet for none of you.
13::54
May 16, 2003
00:25
"Thornstorm"
This road has been a long one, fraught with rocks.
And yet, though stumbling oft, I tread still on,
Though Death has clutched at me, and Demons claw
To pull me to my knees. But still I stand.
And sometimes, wonder why. For life is pain,
An endless path to hurt, and loss. What joys
I gain are swiftly drawn aside, and ire
Returns to clutch my throat. Yet still I breathe.
And here again I dash my feet and fall
Into the thorns, which pierce my scarréd skin.
I bleed, the heavy drops of liquid life
Cascading to the soil. Inside, I wince
Whilst trying still to smile. But oh, it smarts.
And now alone am I, again, one man
Against the world, one soul against the tide
Of soulless mires. One candle in the dark,
When two were so much brighter, mingling flames
That cast away the shadows of the night.
But now that other flame from me is shorn.
Perhaps the Lord has ordered such to be,
And by His Will this severing is meet,
But still it strikes my breast with all the force
Of iron knives propelled in driven fists.
It is no easy thing to follow God.
I put away the things I have of you,
The photographs, their smiles of heady bliss-
Or bliss is what I thought. I wonder now,
Was any of it real? Or just a shade,
A phantom sun that hid the shadows deep,
The cracks within our wall of happy days.
I put these precious things into a box,
But I cannot so hide my memories.
In all my life, no happiness I've had
To rival that one morn when I awoke
To your fair fingers brushing soft my cheek.
Your smiling verdant eyes shone down at me
Like some sweet ray of Heaven, and my heart
Was ne'er so light as then, and ne'er so gay.
But all things die, I ween, and all my joys
Soon evanesce till naught is left but grief.
I cannot bear to touch my silver ring
Once more, this ring I wore for you, so light
And yet so heavy, grave and full of worth.
At unexpected times I feel it still
Upon my hand, some ghost of love, perhaps,
That longs to see our lips touch just once more.
But they cannot, and I am loathe to dream
Of such a thing again, for all dreams die.
Eleven roses bloom, in air of May,
Now speckled with the drops of rainy life,
Like tears upon the cheek of reddened pain-
Like tears upon my cheek that do not fall
But linger only, burning to my flesh.
At least in rain one cannot see me cry,
For cry I do, if silently. Alone
Am I, again, as always, stripped of peace.
Above my silent home the risen clouds
Burst suddenly in storm; the city wakes
Three hours before the dawn in startled gasps.
In torrents come the rain, and pounding hail,
The sky a mass of blue electric fire
As thunder wracks the night. The tempest comes-
The tempest comes to bring a day of storm.
And storm I know too well, and naught but storm.
00:43
05-17-2003
June 2, 2003
16:08
"Enemy"
I am the Demon, the Dark in your daylight,
The snuffer of candles and eater of flame.
I am the Devil, and moon-silvered goddess,
Your target, your lesser, your anger and shame.
I am the pagan who lies to your children,
I am the Roman defiling your church.
I am the killer and eater of flesh
The monster of slaughter to stumble and lurch.
I worship idols, and I pray to ghosts,
Invoking dark angels and chanting my doom.
My altar is sprayed with the blood of a virgin
While unholy magic books clutter my room.
You say you are right, and are perfect, and know
The Truth of the Ages, and Hell is my fate.
What only I claim is to I know that I live
A sinner, a poor man, and here for your hate.
16:24
June 4, 2003
02:17
"Spiral"
I know you not; I have seen not your face
In dreams or while awake. Nay, only prayers
Are where I speak your name, some secret place
Within my core of cores, and hope's soft airs
Breathe on my little heart, half-broken here
And washed in sere rejection's dark ichor,
When striving just to gaze beyond this fear,
To catch a certain thread of something more.
We dance now, you and I, lost in the swirls
Of human life, and ever closer come,
A spiral into dawn as night still hurls
We two within its dull, incessant hum,
A spiral in, to one sweet moment's chance
Where gaze we shall into each other's eyes.
As now, we each but see despair's black lance
And unrelenting storms upon the skies.
As dance we now, we press against the mass
Of those who kiss, then smile and turn away.
They hold us in their arms, and then they pass,
And we are left to face the lonely day.
We dance, an hour, a day, and then they part
From us in fear or anger, or in shame.
They speak of love and play upon our heart
And, whispering in passion, breathe our name,
Then sever all and leave us there to die.
But still we trudge along this weary mile.
In search of something distant, you and I,
Some magic potion hidden in a vial.
I know that you have wept as now I weep,
Your tears cascading down unto your bed.
I know that nightmares wake you out of sleep
As also have my dreams been filled with dread.
But I will dance with you, and never leave,
When our two spirals meet, and then we'll find
That all this hurt and aching has reprieve
And peace can come, and last, upon the mind.
02:40
06-05-03
June 13, 2003
11:36
"Shattered"
They tell me
If you only tried, if you only tried,
You could do it, you can make it,
But if you don't want to try,
Well, then, that's not my fault.
They do not understand.
I am weak, I am not worthy,
If I try, I might die.
And I do not want to die.
It's not as simple for me just to
Start exercising, build up muscle
And strength, oh no, I have to contend
With a recalcitrant body bent
On thwarting my every effort to
Survive. But they think, he does not
Even want to try. And they are right.
Because if trying kills me, then I would
Rather not know success. Failure is
My lot in life, I sometimes think.
I'm probably wrong, unable
To tell what is real and what is false.
Life itself is a success, however,
Merely surviving for one more day
Is a triumph in and of itself.
Does that count for nothing?
Or am I doomed to be seen as a
Mere failure, one who could never
Be? Never, never am I seen as just
A man, trying with what I have
Been given. It's always something else,
Something added to the general assessment
Of who and what I am, and can be.
Either I do not work hard enough,
Do not try hard enough,
Do not want to make my life better.
They say that
I think I know more than anyone,
I think I know better than doctors,
I am a fool.
And maybe I am a fool
But I am my own fool,
And if the world wants me to die,
Then I will live.
And if the world wants me to live,
Then I will die.
Because the world is not for me.
Today I look out at the world and see
Naught by empty promises, and
Outright lies, enticements and
False hope, a glory in the unreal, and
Temptations. Oh, God, I want
To be there, with humanity,
Not alone like this, not alone like this.
I want to feel the kiss of love again,
And the rush of unstained affection.
I am weary of this life,
I am weary of this pain
That never goes for long, and always
Returns to chuckle malevolently at my tears.
I am weary of this death,
I am weary of this hurt
That finds me wherever I may hide
And strips away my goodness
Until I am nothing more than a demon
In the shell of a man.
The weight of darkness crushes me
Beneath its heal, and my shell is
Shattered.
What must I do to rise above this?
I know not. I am alone.
I am weak.
I am shattered.
12:03
June 12, 2003
15:18
“My Disease”
My legs are failing and I stumble
But still across the miles I press,
My gates are cracked and ramparts crumble-
To fall and never feel the sweet caress
Again of lover’s hands, and lover’s smile,
And lover’s kiss. No, not for me,
But only endless wear and endless trial.
I drown within this sea.
This is my disease
I touch you, and taint you.
Soon it will kill me.
Join me, and die.
There’s nothing so black as a lonely night,
Where once soft words of love held sway.
There’s nothing so bleak as a gloried light
That suddenly fades away.
And fading is my hope in life’s rebirth-
My soil is leeched of all but stone.
And on the arid plain, I have no worth.
I’m damned to walk alone.
This is my disease
I touch you, and taint you.
Soon it will kill me.
Join me, and die.
This is my disease
I touch you, and taint you.
Soon it will kill me.
Join me, and die.
Die forever.
15:50
July 9, 2003
04:55
“Prison”
I still dream of you, when dawn has yet to come
And memory floods my vision. I know not
What I feel, anymore, when I see your eyes
Smiling at me. I am drawn, and repelled, by aching
Want for something other than this current life.
I feel like I’ve fallen from the face of the Earth
And all sweet love’s enraptures disappear
Like raindrops soaked into parched desert land
.
Nothing is close, and all is far away.
Where once I hoped in you, I feel now only despair.
Darkness becomes me, and sickness wracks my bones
So long, here, in this empty place. I look around and see
Naught but black, the walls, the ceiling, the summer sun
Beyond the window. Never comes an easy morning,
And never a quiet eve. The world feels distant, and
Cold, and holds no smile for me. All the brightness
Is locked away in some vile cell, and bound in iron,
And I do not have the key. I thought I had found the
Key, but it shattered as I turned it, and I was left alone.
Someday I wish to find this key, but I know not if I
Have what it takes to unlock the world from its
Prison.
July 10, 2003
05:24
"Dissonance"
I'm crying, and I almost don't know why.
Maybe it's these accursed drugs,
But it's easy to place blame.
Maybe I'm just a fool.
But it's easy to think lowly of one's self.
I don't know. I don't know anything.
I just want the world to go away,
And embrace me, to live, and to die.
I am so weary of everything. Yet I hunger for more.
I wallow, I wallow, I wallow,
And I know I should not. but it's hard to climb
Out of a dark hole, sometimes, when
Your hands shake so bad they cannot
Find a grip. I feel like an electric wire
With nowhere to release my charge,
And so it's shorting me out, and burning
Me right out of life. I feel cursed,
And blessed, and sometimes I don't know which
Is the stronger, and that frightens me,
Because I know it should be the former.
But now I cry, and I can't stop crying, and it
Always comes back, and what can I do?
I know I should sleep, now, but I am afraid,
Because my dreams are odd, of late, and
Disturb me. I am weary of disturbance.
I am weary of being without breath,
Without oxygen, of the real kind, and the
Metaphorical, the life-giving airs of comfort,
Which I always think are denied me.
Maybe I am just blind, I do not care, anymore.
I do not care, I do not care, I do not care.
I just want to sleep, and suffer no dreams.
05:35
July 26, 2003
18:42
"Once Happy"
I wake from dreaming about you,
And feel old, as if all time has passed me by.
And maybe it has, and maybe it has.
Only four months ago, I stood there,
With you, smiling and content,
Never happier, my hand entwined with yours.
On those slow and quiet nights
That passed all too swiftly,
When thunderstorms just like at home
Boomed in the distance,
I'd kiss you, and you'd embrace me,
And all seemed right with the world.
We stood in the rain, I, who hated the
Touch of water on my horrid skin,
And smiled, and laughed, and life
Felt so very bright.
I thought, oh how I prayed, it would never end.
Four months later, and all has fallen away.
You are gone, so long gone, now,
And I am left here, alone,
Afraid of being so lonely,
Chipped away by the steady hammer of
Ache, my fragments all about my feet,
What core remains a desolate and hateful thing.
It feels like forever has passed,
Age upon age of this hurt,
This bitter anguish and glacier of "why?"
I know not whether I'm sane or mad,
But if this is sanity, I would rather be shackled.
My hurt does not compare to that of years,
Though years I have had of hurt,
I, resentful mass of relentless foolhardy
Dreamings. I suffer, but others suffer far worse
Than these mere months have wrough upon me.
Why, then, am I still so bitter, so angry?
A veil lies across my heart,
And my sight cannot pierce it,
And I fear I will go blind if I do not soon
Find a way to see.
But I do not know how to see, anymore, I fear.
I am tired of life, weary of fighting for breath,
Life is a war, and every day a battle,
But sometimes I wonder why still I keep up this
Struggle. I want to live, I want to breathe
But it hurts so much, sometimes, mama, it hurts.
Oh, mama, I wish you were here. It's been three years
Since I lost you, and all I have found since then
Seems fleeting, ethereal, lasting but for a moment
And then vanishing like so much mist
After the sun rises to burn it all away.
I wonder if you are proud of me,
Of what I have become, of what I may one day be.
I think that I never told you how much you meant to me
Until it was far too late, and you lay there, and did not wake,
And I wept. And I weep. And sometimes I think that I will
Always weep, and never feel the warmth of the daylight again,
But only night's cold, dark, and shelterless embrace,
From which I shan't escape.
I'm being foolish. I have always been foolish,
In one way or another,
I think I shall always be foolish.
I know, I know, I know, I am really
Not quite sane, some part mad,
Never the center and always at the fringe,
Dying as I always have died,
While crying out for life.
Life. What a dream, that must be,
What a wonderful, glorious thing,
To breathe fully into the lungs
And feel the ring of love on one's
Finger...and know it never has to hidden
Away in some box,
Because you were not wanted.
19:21
July 29, 2003
18:40
"The Trees"
The forest lay silent, and stilled
Is the north wind, when its howls
Should breathe through the snow-
Laden branches of the oaks, the
Beeches, sleeping in their winter
Fastness. But the trees are silent,
And their ghosts haunt not where
Once the spine chilled to their touch,
Soft, secret whispers crept into the
Mind, voices more sensed than heard,
Life beyond life. A silence of fear,
Now, this terrible noiseless place,
Where even the spirits flee from the
Storm that so swiftly approaches.
The groves are deserted, and no
Priests linger with prayers and
Offerings of blood for the Gods
Who leave the trees to their doom.
The Tenth marches, pila and gladii
At ready, martial step echoing
Across the plain, looking with some
Slight fear into the black, deep woods
Far to their front. Axes in hand, they
Will fell the mighty oaks and slay
The spirits, all the while singing and
Laughing, and telling of whose Gods
Are the mightier. But the men, not far
From being boys, will kiss their charms
And murmur prayers, for they have felt
The uneasy razor of hate slide along their
Bones as they passed beneath the ancient
Canopy. Hate for them and their cruel
Steel implements. Oh, to be back in the
Marble temples of home, away from
These brooding and terrifying trees,
To feel the safe security of holy stone.
August 9, 2003
22:01
"Omen"
I face another night, and dark descends,
And morning's face then rises. No surcease
From this parade of days which Heaven sends.
For life is war, and death the only peace.
White lies the ground, my mother sleeping there,
When cold December on ungentle wings
Calls something old in me, as old as prayer,
As shivers by her graveside, I, who sings
Of Christmas Eve, and days spent warm and soft.
But nothing, now, no shelter from the tide
Of wind and ice, and warmth that fades aloft.
For lonely are my eyes, and scorn my bride.
Time is a Death, the hours of slow decay
Bring hurt to every joy, and fear to bliss.
Oh, once we loved. Our loves have gone away,
And left we are to claw in the abyss.
The world is burning down, the spirits rage,
And all the while we lust for pleasure's shade.
Not I, not I, trapped in this self-locked cage,
Who only seeks the lover's poisoned blade,
For tainted knife it is, and full of hate,
When spitting in your face, and slashing swift
To rip your throat away and dissipate
Your living blood. And never heals the rift.
But, oh, still dream I do for that embrace
Like nothing in this life: love's touch most dear.
And not for pleasure's sake or pride's black race
But for the rain upon my desert sere.
But torn from me this was, as all things are
That once were sewn so fast upon my soul.
The threads are jagged, ripping out a scar
To mesh with all the others in the hole
Where lies my being, chill and drenched in dread,
A thousand cares as stones upon my back.
What shall I do when all my hope has fled,
And fall I, drained, upon this endless track?
Oh, long I do to see some comfort find
This wasted life to which I, fool, have lease,
To gain some respite from the angry grind,
For life is war, and death the only peace.
21:15
8-15-03
August 21, 2003
"Circle"
The circle turns, and all are ground to dust,
All Heaven's ire does naught to us bequeath.
Our mighty works will fall and turn to rust,
And know we death is life, and life is death.
High mountains echo long the peal of glee
Of demon's ravage on our filthy land.
They come to slaughter you, and ravish me
To rip my heart and hold it in their hand,
The blood to drip 'tween fingers clawed, and blacked
With lifeless soil scraped from the living earth,
That lives no more, but now is red, and cracked,
From fair Perdition's army's surface birth.
Their fires now cover all, and all is sere,
Like all my soul, oh sere as desert's heart.
What have I left, but darkness, and my fear
Of Light, and of the hatred torn apart.
I swallow flame and eat the devil's sun,
Inhale the burning doom with every breath.
I cannot flee, I cannot hope to run
I know that death is life, and life is death.
September 6, 2003
22:06
"Melody"
Music is a drug, and sweet the soul
Takes in the feath'ry airs, or iron beat,
The hard, the soft, the joyful and the dire,
And never gets enough. Oh, ears, you find
A ceaseless rhythm, a battery of guns never
Silent, in the dying hours of night.
We drink the wine of singing in our heart,
The disk of melody spinning always in our mind,
For always have we sung, and always shall, till death.
22:14
September 24, 2003
08:24
"Mutagenesis"
The world burns in the fires of anger.
Can you not smell the ash on the air,
The charred, smoldering dust, in the
Hearts of men? It waits, as the spark
Waits for the merest breath of wind,
Ready to fan out upon this dry tinder
We have made of our mortal home.
It seethes, it rumbles like some thunder
Far distant, heard more on the soul than
On the ear. A storm is rising, and we do
Not yet see the clouds on the horizon.
There is no shelter, for those who give
Up the hard path to Heaven for the
Easy way to Hell. There is no water
To quench that terrible conflagration.
We go to war, now, assured that we
Are the only just ones left among the
Ruins of this day. And perhaps we are,
But the world screams its hatred for us,
Its bitter resentment of our power, and
Our triumphs. They have failed, where
We have always thriven, even when
Defeat was near. Some unnatural
Power resides within our blood, that we
Would succeed where others have gone
To their graves, others here far longer.
We will fall, or they, for there is no
Quarter in this most loveless of battles,
And who can say which will remain
Standing, when all the costs are counted?
This is my generation, this is the future,
For one day we will rule. But Wisdom
Has forsaken us, replaced with insipient
Delusions of our place in this world, where
Every tree and insect bears more weight
In our minds than even our innocents,
Our unborn, our hungry, and our poor.
The Order of Grace we have denigrated
Unto the uttermost degree, until we fail
Even to acknowledge its existence. Whom
Do we serve? None but ourselves, and that
In a manner calculated to achieve disaster.
All that is holy, all that is right, all things
Given to us from the hand of God we have
Scorned. Today is a good day to die.
And what will we do, when the world comes
Crashing down beneath the weight of our
Foolishness? Vote with our fists, cut the heart
Out of all order that survives to constrain us,
Scratch the itch of freedom, and flay our skins
To tatters, reach out for chaos, and dance,
Laughing, as the skies fall, and Death comes
Sweet and precious to steal away the lives we
Have wasted. Such is the doom we so gleefully
Stumble towards. But we do not see. To the eyes
Of my generation, the world is a prison, iron bars
Holding in our emotions, silencing our voices,
Crushing out pleasure with the black boots of
Oppression, cruel hands choking our lust-mad
Little lives. Not a prison, the world is a womb,
And we the unborn child within her, waiting for
Birth into the new Light for which we were made.
But we slay our own unborn without a thought,
And thus we could never see that we ourselves
Are so, and no less in danger from the hand of
Aborting darkness. We are aborting ourselves,
By our own blindness strangling the life that was
Once innocence within us, hands clutched
Hard about our own throats until breath has
Gone, and we perish. Innocence, indeed, is
A shaming thing to us, now, seen not as armor
To girt us with strength, but as binds of
Weakness and prudish destruction, a virtue
Ancient and useless. We delve secrets not
Meant for human minds, yet forsake
The divine Mysteries given to save our souls.
And so do we set our paths, and cast our dice,
Waiting for the pips to fall. Life has become
A plaything for we sad, ungrateful children.
A game. The board is set, the pieces in place,
Ready, but King or Pawn alike, which is the
Hand that moves us? We glitter with the gold
Of Pieces made in the image of the Master,
Bejeweled swords at our sides, silk robes,
And crowns of glory. But what the Hand?
Not ours, whatever grand delusions we
Hold, that straddle the razor line between
Nightmare and dream. All life is a dream,
And one day shall we awaken, to see
Where our dreamings have brought us.
O fools, and dreamers, little men and women
With more pride than sense, children in truth,
Heedless beneath the gaze of our angry
Schoolmaster. But our transgressions will
Come due, as we sightlessly cleave to the
Darkness, unknowing and unenlightened
In our savage desires for pleasure, our
Egalitarian whims. When sacrifice and toil
Have become curses, and comfort a cry
Of victory, what hope remains to us?
We scrabble in the dirt of depredation,
Remorseless and shorn of pity, except for
The pity we accord ourselves, o we poor,
Beautiful victims trampled by the heel of
A corrupted State and Church! Such fools.
We speak when we should be silent, outrage
Hot on our lips, yet are silent when we should
Be screaming the righteous cries of truth.
We succumb to the lush, sweetened candy
Of feelings and supposed empathy, never
Tasting the poison mixed with the honey.
And so it slowly kills us. One day we all
Shall be gone because of it, and Earth left
A lifeless, smoking ruin. For all debts come
Due. And the storm gathers, lightning held
In wait, hail waiting in reserve, driving rains
Of flood and woe boiling to fall upon us.
The breaking draws ever nearer, as our
Hearts become angrier by the day, the hour.
The game will end. And we shan't be the victor.
09:39
09-25-2003
July 26, 2003
00:28
“Grind”
Deus ex machina, and there you are,
Slave to the wheel,
Gear in the machine, forever grinding down,
Your choking dust
Catching in the throats of friend and foe alike.
What have you,
But malice in your blood, and ire in your bones?
The world is yours, now, yours to play with,
Slave to the wheel,
Turning, turning endlessly on a wretched bearing
Of sin and depredation,
Foully lubricated and vile to the core,
The soul deprived, and depraved,
Filled with hate masked as tolerance,
Arid anger cloaked in jealousy,
Arrant malevolence on a silver tongue,
Naked antipathy clothed in fine silk
With jewels to hide the poverty in spirit.
Did I ever seek to crush you beneath my heel,
Slave to the machine,
To bend your knee to my God,
Make you worship as I do?
May He strike me down if ever I did!
I only wish to bend my own knees in peace,
And say my chants that seem funny to your ears,
Speak my prayers that are old, far older than you,
Full of words and confessions you deem worn
And worthless, vile and vapid,
Constricting the pleasure and lust out of life.
I am old, not in years but in faith,
And my priests were sacrificing when
Rome still breathed,
For all you claim they cut you down.
We all cut each other down,
But I am now the enemy, the barbarian,
The intolerant sadistic misogynist racist hater of all
Who differ with me....
Or so you say. I am what I am,
But I am no hater, for hate is not in me.
Bitterness is, for all I loathe it.
Love is hard, and hate is easy,
And I love you regardless,
Slave to the machine,
I will never hate you, though you pierce me.
Love is hard, and I am hard,
I am harder every day,
Every day I am alone more stone is added unto
My heart, with iron bracings, and what fire
Might crack that stone is farther and farther away.
I clutch a stone in my fist, and waver
In desire to hurl it at whatever wall presents itself.
Futile, that, as all things are futile,
For what small missile I could manage to wield
Would never make the slightest dent in this world
Of fear and terror. This wall of regret, and faltered
Hopes, and shattered dreams, looming tall and black
High above my head, and my stone makes no imprint.
I hold the stone in my hand, so tightly it cuts my flesh
And I bleed.
And my blood is nothing to you,
Slave to the wheel,
As it waters the verdant earth and stains the soil.
Deus ex machina, and here I am,
Disintegrating as my buffer crumbles
Standing alone in a field of enemies
With only a blood-streaked gladius
And no shelter from the sun.
The standard lies trampled,
And the legion’s fallen all about
Crying, and moaning, or silent in death’s embrace.
But nothing have I to embrace,
As the Cimbric men encircle
And strike the killing blows.
01:22
June 22, 2003
02:54
“Shadowchild”
I am here but you don’t see me
.
I watch you while you laugh
I see your smile, and your happy
Banter, alive in a human sea.
A party, or reunion, or barbecue,
Some event where people gather.
And I am here, but you don’t see me.
The light disturbs me, and I shun it.
Its brightness hurts my eyes, and sears
My skin, so I stay hidden away from you
And you will never see me.
I cannot help but stare at you,
For you are so lovely. The sun, for
All I am revolted by it, glints on your
Hair like upon some precious liquid gem
Mined from the earth, and the air blows
This into streamers of fluid beauty.
Your eyes from this distance are small
Jewels that I can barely discern, but I
Know them, glittering with mirth.
I have longed to gaze into them,
But I know that I never will.
I hide here, in the shadows, in the darkness,
And nurse my loneliness,
Wanting with all my heart to leap out into
The open and tell you how beautiful you are,
But my soul burns with fear as some dying star,
Expiring to a slow cinder of nothing.
And I am dying here, but I tell no one.
For what good would it do?
I am scarred, and ugly, and I fear
That you would only shrink from me,
As all dreams have shrunk from me.
I am dying here, my spirit rotting away
In little bits, hiding from the Light
And the Air, and the sweet destruction
Of human interaction. I am a part of this darkness
And it embraces me. The Light would only
Scar me more. And scars enough I bear.
01:31
06-25-03
October 17, 2003
03:43
“Anthracosis”
I separate, in this late day, and fall
Upon the edge of lonely, mad despair.
The chasm looming deep below, my hands,
Near-desperate, clutch the withered vines that curl
From out the ground, but little hope remains.
What have I wrought, in life, what have I sown,
So far in these fast-gathering years, to aid
Mankind, and cause him none of ire or grief?
I feel as like a rock upon the back
Of life, a burden best removed. A stone
That weighs down all around me with its bulk,
And never gives relief, but only toil.
I should not have endured, and yet I do,
For some strange reason I can never see,
A deadweight on society’s blind scale.
So here I wait, and sigh, and kiss the night.
04:03
October 21, 2003
04:11
“Black”
Night holds me in her sweet and dark embrace,
Away from all the vagaries of day
So soon to come, the Dawn to wash my face
In hellish crimson, burning like a ray
Caressed upon the skin of dying stars,
And kissed by stellar winds in blackest void.
Magnetic has become my blood, my scars,
And polar as some devil’s solenoid
When currents forged of woe bestride my hours;
Attracting darkness, I inhale the black.
The Light now ill beseems me, from its towers
So high above my head, and glaring back
Down into my benighted ghetto’s street.
I’ll never climb those heights; my scalar life
Waits here for day to come, and day to beat
Her merciless, unceasing song of strife.
04:58
November 14, 2003
14:30
“Against the Light”
Oh, child of Light, sweet Angel’s seed,
Oh, radiant one, whom Shadows flee,
We demons here address our creed,
Our rage, to you, our glee
In pain and misery, our lot
Which seems to you our fitting fate.
For we are Dark, our rites a blot
Upon your whitened state.
We quaff the blood, devour the flesh,
In sacrifice on altars black,
In golden robes, our symbols mesh,
The Signs you always lack.
But lacking so, you deem it right
To be denied, and thus deny.
You banish all who scorn your Light
And smother we who cry.
But still we breathe, and still we sing
Our hymns while you attack, assail.
We live, and serve our darkling King
In hard, bedeviled mail.
But you can’t see our glory, here,
Our might and sweetness manifest.
You’ll never know the end to fear
That lies upon our breast.
We’ve places here in Darkness, child,
That Day’s despair can never reach,
And lessons learned in Twilight wild
That Dawn can never teach.
So bring your hate, and bring your knives,
And come to kill, to rend, to slay.
Our bodies fail, you break our lives,
But Night ends every Day.
15:52
November 22, 2003
03:35
“Seven”
When Night in all her blackened glory swirls
About me, here, the sleepless hours at last
Give way to ceaseless nightmares in unrest.
But all is not contorted by those fears,
For I have see you, Lady, in my dreams,
For seven nights, and seven days I’ve closed
My eyes to see you there again. Oh, white,
So white as all the ivory of an age,
Your gown that glows unearthly in the light
Of father Pluto’s moon, and white your face,
Your skin, so pale, so ghostly in that place.
I cannot help but kneel, in all those dreams,
For something in your eyes, oh bluest eyes
As like the summer sky on August noon,
Bespeaks a queen of old, the regal grace
Of Guinevere in fabled Camelot.
I kneel, yet cannot wrench my eyes away
From your fair beauty, Lady, oh, my eyes,
To see such loveliness. Oh, worthy not
Am I to gaze, yet gaze I do, the flame
Of all your presence holding me in thrall.
Your face, your eyes, you hair now red as fire,
Now golden as the dawn. What see I here
In this benighted place my dreams have wrought?
A vision, or a shade of madness come
Perhaps, or else some trick of weary mind?
I feel that I should know you, speak your name,
But I cannot, and shamed I am for this.
In silence there you reach your hand to me,
And I, as new as Spring, and old as Death,
Take it in mine. So small, so fine, so warm.
And then it ends, oh, seven times it ends,
And seven times I wake, and seven tears
I shed, because I know not what this means,
This dream, oh Lady, hope, a hope for Light.
04:15
December 11, 2003
02:09
“Virus”
Alone on a Greyhound bus,
A thousand miles from home,
Staring at the cold and empty prairie
Beneath the midnight dome,
He wants her back, again, he wants her next to him,
But he’ll lose it all before the summer falls.
He wants her in his arms again,
He never wants to part.
But the dagger’s in his back again,
It’s ripping out his heart.
He never saw it coming
And he’ll never see it go,
Just lies there bleeding, all alone
And dying in the snow.
There’s beauty in the heat of life
And beauty in the lives a man can die
But nothing lovely in the knife of parting
Where all you can do is cry
And dream of her who didn’t want you-
And hear her voice, whispering to you-
And feel her kiss upon your lips-
And die again.
He wants her in his arms again,
He never wants to part.
But the dagger’s in his back again,
It’s ripping out his heart.
He never saw it coming
And he’ll never see it go,
Just lies there bleeding, all alone
And dying in the snow.
Nothing is forever, they say,
And all your wounds will slowly heal.
But Time is only another memory
That madness can’t conceal.
It burns like fire, and aches like ice
And cuts into the soul’s safe place
To mangle you in sleep again
And bring the nightmares home.
He wants her in his arms again,
He never wants to part.
But the dagger’s in his back again,
It’s ripping out his heart.
He never saw it coming
And he’ll never see it go,
Just lies there bleeding, all alone
And dying in the snow.
And when the springtime comes again
To bathe the land in green,
It finds his body, frozen there
Still clutching at his ring.
02:30
December 24, 2003
01:27
“Worth”
Worth is not something that breaks
All at once, like a dagger’s thrust.
It slowly evaporates over years
An unhallowed and decaying death,
Beaten into the soul with the unceasing
Rhythm of fell drums, hammers to the
Heart pounding, ever pounding, with
The slow certainty of marble forming
In the Earth, stones crushed and pressed
Until they are changed. But this marble
Is not beautiful to behold. It is ghastly,
And ruined, a life made ugly and a soul
Made hard, by the constant barrage
Of words, and deeds, that deny a man
His dignity, his honor, his worth.
Lurking around the skating rink, pocket
Full of quarters for the video games, their
Flickering, electric glow a comfort, in
Some strange little way. The boy does not
Bother to skate; he doesn’t know how.
If he tried they would laugh at him,
Falling down. Always falling down. He
Hears them, close about, laughing, a
Birthday party to which he was not invited.
His shoes are good, solid shoes, his clothes
Fine and warm, but they bear no mark of
Famous brand or name. For this, too, they
Will laugh at him. At his scars, at his walk,
At the effects of the medications that keep
Him alive. Few like the sickly little boy.
He hates being there. He walks by the
Revelers, unseen as always, and smells
The pizza and cake they have. His hunger
Turns to ashes in his mouth, and as he goes
Back to the safety of the glowing screens,
He gives up his last dollar for more coins,
Escaping into the unreal world of warriors
And space battles. The real world does not
Want him. The real world, in its cold, hard
Wisdom, has found him to have no value.
To his teachers he is a dullard, to his priests
Slow of wit, to his gym coaches a wastrel.
No matter that he reads every day, sings at
Every Mass, and plays kickball every spring.
To his classmates he is nothing at all.
Lurking in the chill, silent alley, beneath
The shade of mulberry trees, his world fades
His friends have all moved away, and even this
Alleyway, where once they played in youthful
Merriment, will soon be gone, the trees ripped
Out, and the familiar little stores beyond torn
Down, all in the name of Economic Progress.
Life is a dance of change and constancy, both
With their blessings and curses. Life is a waltz
Of war, when you are young but innocent no
More and the weight of years, somehow, begins
To press on your shoulders. Sorrow clothes
You like a second skin, and hope becomes
Little more than a half-remembered dream. But
Though he may not flourish, he will survive.
Survival becomes an instinct, for those who
Sometimes have no food, no means, who each
Day fight a battle against their own bodies,
Who grieve out of loss at an early age, not
Understanding. Survival of the unfittest it is,
Those with no strength of body, no beauty,
No riches to dazzle and impress. No, only
Have they the path through the Darkness to
The Light, when others are given Light as their
Birthright. The Darkness seeps into their bones,
Though they walk in the Light, afraid and alone.
The Darkness of being alone, of being worthless,
For what is the Light if not the love of one’s
Fellows, the soft, safe embrace of community?
But they of the Dark will always win in the end.
Win, by dying, and escaping, and leaving the Light-
Wracked world to its cold wisdom, its cruel logic,
Its endless games and competitions, shorn of all
Mercy. For they are not fit, they are not worthy
To play in that great, glittering pageant of human
Endeavor to which those of the Light aspire.
No, they walk alone, shunned and bitter, the mark
Of unworth branded into their souls. Black is their
Kiss, and rejected their love, their love, the one thing
They never seem to lose, even in the very depths
Of despair. They never lose it, though they be
Burned by hatred’s flame, and pierced with scorn’s
Blade. They just stagger on through the unlife,
Not dead yet, but not truly alive anymore,
In their eyes the spark of a mad, pitiful sweetness.
02:35
December 29, 2003
00:52
“Sins of Silence”
To She who is not yet found.
Here in this darkened place we meet,
My secret love. The moon burns low
And, cautious, our nocturnal feet
Tread light the sparse and fading snow,
As stop we here beneath the bough
Of this, our sacred tree. The wind
Is chill against my back. Oh, how
Have our lives come to this? We sinned
Against the world, the hateful press
Of social Man and all his craft,
With silence. And the loud excess
Of all the noisome ones who laughed
Has made us thieves, who steal their joy
With all our quiet. Come we not
To them engage, but to destroy,
Our cold against their life so hot.
This is our crime: that we were wont
To revel not, and nor partake
In their appointed lusts, nor taunt
Those else who likewise never slake
Their passions with the wine of flesh.
So we are damned, and here we stand,
Our silent field to reap and thresh,
And inner souls with ice to brand.
Oh, love, but let the world live free
To burn unto its own demise!
For here, beneath this secret tree
While starlight bathes the quiet skies-
Oh, cold, as cold as we, that light-
Here I shall hold your hand in mine.
Our refuge be the noiseless night
And in the silence breath divine.
01:59
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