The 40 day Tirade

I'm so fucking cultured ain't I?
Bare naked, on hostile ground.
Torn from the womb with gaudy abrasion.
The roaring soliloquy of a fostered pet.

A howl at the moon.  

Can you hear me? 
(How it shines upon us.) 
This fraud, this poor imitation.  

(But a flattering one.)
Like a false idol, or a death mask.
This palely drawn still life of godliness.
Who brings unity through vision.
And reflection through the darkness.

Reminding us all what we are on this earth

Never more

Raven, raven
In the sky
Raven, Raven.
Tell me why.
Why are you so far away..
Tell me please why you cannot stay.

Supine.

Surprise,
It sweeps.
It seeps.
How blatant.
How forced.
My, oh my. It soars.
Like a devil's cure it stings.
A deafly heard riot.
Drumming of hearts.
Alliterated expectations.

How, horrid, healthy hearts are heard. My own. No longer beats.
No longer in rhythm. Or in tune.

Trumpets burry me. Sadness mistaken for irony. My heart yet tolls. Silently. Softly like a cricket song. I sit in an empty room. Enamored with my loneliness.
Disdaining my omnipotence.

Impotence.. Ignorance..banality
My new identity. My code of honor..
My concrete soles.

Pity me. Do not give me a rope.

Resurrect dead, on planet Jupiter

She creeps from the grave .
A grave in my mind.
A lethargic resurfacing
A walking, dead approach from
The past.

The Lord of the living dead , reborn yet again. Same mistakes. Same humanity.
What rules ever change? What coffins never close?
When king Jupiter resurrects the dead, will i be saved?

Or must I to be part of this world.
This planet of excess, and hedonistic conditioning. Must I too dance with the devil?

What I once thought dead Is crawling back to life...

One chance,
I can't dare miss this only shot.

Misfire.

I can't sell my soul and eat it too.

It appears the time has come.
The worlds is an oyster..
like an apple core..
pearly white cruxes 
amplified descent. 
 riches, vague and insubstantial. 

Deep below graves lay seeds
Deep within seeds lay monsters
Grotesque, Sullen, Betrayed. 
My anger, my arousal.. deafened. 
muffled  breaks. coughs like daggers.
retired instances..

Tomorrow my soul will be buried.
no wakes, no bedfellows. 
a desecrated corpse. 
strange.. 

the tree.
founded on earth.
bearer of forbidden fruit.
unimaginable compromises.
seedless grapes, rotten apples.
squashed.


reward me.
for I am your burden. 
with feet of clay.
a morose obstacle. 
glued to my seat..
staring at a screen.
with out blood on my hands.

A year unrequited.

I fear the ringing stopped.
The bell no longer tolls.
I fear the sound has perished..
and I fear nobody knows.

The pain of loss unspoken
sunken feelings now awoken.
repressed and unadorned.

where are you liberty?
has Spain not shed a tear?
What is it happiness?
where have you been all year?


I see it now.
quit clearly.
I see it like a storm.
imagined doom and terrors 
deprive me from that which is warm..

I see it whirling around me.
this vulnerability.
this care that's unrequited. 
this maiden out at sea

imagined strife and sorrow.
oh bother, woe is me.

I, a deaf parishioner. 
alone.
 unaware. 
unspoken.
blind.
.

Reprise

I feel as if I've told this story before. 
A boy, trapped in his age. 
not slighted by the swift crush of ambivalence. The sky falling before him like a genuflecting servant. 
The night rises without a pale fire.
March's soul begs an uneasy question. God can not simply claim his own omnipotence. As a child can not beg himself to know truth beyond his years. We are shackled by the present. Cursed to only be sculptors of the drying clay we call our futures. 


Yes I have told this story before. It is about the uncertainty of the past before conception.

Pt. 2
The Post
Out like our shallow feelings, for our lovers our arms can't yet bear the weight of our sorrows and internalized our hate instead of violence. I've not been one to gripe. For I am no one yet to speak of love and hate attained. We are all shallow. Like waters in a puddle. We have to be stepped on a while before our shallowness is gone. 

Pt. 3
The Window
Gray as a stone pivot wall
Strong like the suns of ole english priests
The air is a jewel in the sky
Precious as only life can be.
Although we are all doomed to die

An interest in ideals contrast the truth and closes our eyes
We are blind
A shame
Wilderness blinds, Sanity sells.

To be, and to see are to live 
like we can.