February 2011
This is restitution
This is reprieve from the anger and guilt
Built into blood and ancestor’s soul tree
Something overgrown into blackness
Into hatred consuming from the root
To the tips of fingers
Where revenge aches the most
Consistent breathing out without
The sharp breath in
To enlighten one’s mind to reality
And the overwhelming sense of fresh air taking
Yet bound down in this bog of emotion toiling
Roaming the earth for pieces far removed
From touch and taste and wonderful life
Against a volition of your own
Breaking, degrading down into
Insanity spreading
Collecting at your feet
Dragging you under
And if the red lust were greater
Then there would be no you
In place of a beast heaving
I’ll tell you child
That I’m not honesty or beauty
But a crackling in the air
The soft split of sky as it thunders
A sharp pain of light escaping from heaven
A recurrence repeating in unpredictability
I could not tell you the truth
Because it was so varied
A spatial inconsistency
Morphing as steps were taken
And it was not the same as it was
Years ago
Seconds ago
Nor was it wonderful to see
A truth is much more reality than fantasy
A metal rod attracting in all the energy
And exploding in such intensity
Perhaps observed it is a picture
But to be it all feels so much like breaking
A muffled sound as it all collapses
Because things could not be held together
A violent storm, and I, its weapon
Speaking in tongues meant for the melancholy
I was speeding down, down, down
Right into the streets and the trees
Stooping lower and lower
Until I obstructed myself with the physicality of worlds
And broke upon the pavement and bark
Slowly subsiding to a soft glow
Then nothing but ruin
Where does this pain come from
The depth of your kingdom
A ruined land of soul spoiling
This is your ruling
A world in constant degeneration
Of virtue and moral
Love and ambition
And all that bleeds out it suffering
A tear here and a tear there
A mighty explosion of sadness
Erupting from the places you
Crucified yourself
And no god here but turmoil
Torturing what is left
In the most sensitive of places
A ruler made of mourning
Brought about his own reckoning
A madness and a mute despair that
Elevates the massacre of self to martyrdom
Save yourself and kingdom both
A weeping man cannot speak words
Only pearls of water dripping
And who shall decree that the day has passed
And a new shall start
If all is dumb with sobbing
