Blackest Blood

Black blood breathe

beneath the rocky deep

burn bright and high

waves broil, frothing

into the flames of your passing

but the gold-toothed smile

burns brighter still.

Sizzle, sizzle, boil and bubble

worlds part before

the tremble of your passing–

send tremors to the core

of all the staunchest hearts

come hell or high water

There will be Blood.

Wounds fester

like blisters burst

your fevered pitch defies

the madness of their dreams–

the sky and the sea weep black tears

and all are consumed–

come Death or Life.

The Labyrinth

Commit unto me

the ability to See;

there is so much I wish to Learn,

no longer shall I simply yearn.

Commit unto me

the secrets of the endless ages

bound by the winding passages

of your shadowed mystery.

Let all be bared to me

as I commit unto your halls—

winding, coiling in a countless web

of one path, bound to a single center.

Take my eyes

and let the darkness grace,

eyes blind but arms outstretched,

with mind open to embrace.

Cast aside the clinging tatters

for immaterial metamorphosis

from the chains of that society

that barred me from your gates.

Lo! No more bound

I float into your grace

and rapture myself

upon your delicate caress.

Shut out the light,

stretch out existence;

the senseless path becomes

alighted by reality, purified.

In you the sky is my solace,

dancing and diving through clouds,

limitless in my exploration,

but grounded—finally connected.

Others jeer amidst

the fickle insecurity

bred into imprisoned forms—

bound body, mind, and soul.

No fear, march unhindered—

their rage is not for you;

still wrapped in grim conformity,

blinded minds bar ascension.

Noise topples as I touch the center

and everything falls away;

complete, I breathe at last—

Your corridors have set me free.

Word

Word to the max

Can’t touch this

Illusion of a person, yo

You don’t know me

Or my parents’ money

Can’t touch my grills son

That shine brighter than my soul

Spin faster than my mind–

What is this shallow creature?

I am here and you are not

You can’t label me

With anything other

Than what I’m trying to be–

I’m not, but if I try hard enough

You’ll think I am

You be trippin’

If you can’t accept

The things I’m not

But my bling covers it

Pretty well don’t you think?

Ain’t nothing more intense than me

Except for everything and everyone

That isn’t crying out

Like me.

To Dream

I soar

Unmoving

Over Emerald Fields

A bird upon the wind

As mere Humans cannot be.

I am the Shark

Within the waves

Of Mystery,

Unbidden.

I see the Depths

No Man was meant to see.

I am a Man

Within the city,

But the city falls

And I float through Chaos

Without Fear—

But I am not the Order.

I Create but cannot

Control

The Madness of my Mind.

Neither Walls nor Chains

Can hold me back.

I Will Not Don the Black

I will not don the Black

I will not bend the Knee

I will not break my Oaths

Or break my Word for thee.

Take my Head

Or take my Hand;

Break my Body a Thousand Ways—

My Will shall ever stand.

Just because you own the Law,

Does not make you Right—

Just because you hold the Crown

Does not ignite my Fright.

Of a Morning’s Creativity

Sleep, I’m beginning to think, is something of a double-edged sword.

No one, and certainly not I, will deny that it feels good. That morning stretch. That clarity that comes in the waking, body taut, eyes open—a lazy embrace of the sun on your skin, and the warmth in every breath. The slumber brings life.

But that life is capped, in some regards. All that energy draws me on, vaults me into the myriad bounties of action, but it distracts. The clarity purges more than just the bad from my mind—in its relentless sweep, so too does it strike away the creativity.

I can write when I am awake. I can read, of course. But the edge to my thoughts are lost, the shine dulled down into bland mediocrity. My world and my actions are clear, but my thoughts are strained. The flow is lost, replaced by strict attention—good for the editing, poor for the writing. I feel a fog as I wake dreaming, and it is the press through this great darkness that brings me satisfaction.

The body suffers, so the mind wakes.

Nothing is as it seems

I woke up early this morning and literally rolled out of bed with this one on my mind. If it was related to dreams I had last night, then it’s probably a good thing I don’t remember them. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy:

Nothing is as it seems—

The old die old,

The young die young,

One perpetuates the other

In waves of maddening

Disillusion not withstanding—

We are players and audience

The stage ours to watch

And ours to play.

But where is the director?

The play plays on in

Such maddening discourses,

There is a plot twist somewhere—

Is this how it was written?

Read somewhere that parents should

They should never have to bury their children,

But the children fight their wars

And the children fight each other

And the old have lived it all.

The mind reflects in odd ways—

Always they remember the old days as better

Days, but they are gone.

Where is the proof?

The mind is fickle, it remembers

What it wants to remember

So the monologue seems better—

There is no difference.

The old are tired.

All they want to do is to lie down,

But they are watching and waiting—

Am I to die?—

But the young are restless

And in their roaming the world

Every moment and monument is theirs—

But they hasten to sleep

And they do not arise,

And the old weep and laugh in terror.

All I taste is Salt

I twist

Like paper on the wind;

The earth batters me

And I dip down, down

Into the crystal nothing—

No sky above,

No earth below—

Pressure building

Strangling the life

From hearth and home—

No warmth

Down below the waves,

My tumult silent

In the swallowing mass

That caresses all the hearing

From my mind.

All I taste

Is salt.

Sonic Bursts

There is a force inside of me—

A sound unheard

A sight unseen.

Sonic bursts

Explode within my mind,

Springing forth

Menageries

Of ruptured thought—

Half-man, half-beast

Tumbling through the hoops

Of society’s round-top.

They shrink,

The world below

A sea of eyes.