I find once more these hostage hours
as the breath of days held in
bringing to birth a fugue
of dislocated thoughts
myself abstained
shot through with penumbrae
in a rage of shameful particles
precipitate to dawn
exposed in oblivion like all the other souls
in this mortal convent
this alive antiquity of forlorn minds
companion to infinity
distressed by absolutes
and the indifference of the rain
patterned to weep at the intrinsic
yet shielded from my self-destruction
by a vehemence of impossible compassion
as I mourn the unknowable
in this scattered meditation
as I shiver untouchable
in distant deprivation
as I remain unbreakable
for now....

Of that era, short in sight of time,
so woven with gray grandeur in
the fog of parting years I now
give voice, and dip this mused quill
unto the depth of 'spired thought
to scribe of majesties forgone,
upon beaten knees in sight of
greater souls, and thus begin,
in visionary breath found nightly
wing'd, departing swift, to speak
such fleeting words as riven minds
can so contrive, in weal of weariness,
my spirit held in hostel grave
to etch this testament unto the iron skein.

In those dim days, upon the wand'ring world,
whence man had not the wit to dream,
and the ravens did repose, there came
the nascent call of war, bleak stranger
to those starving lands, those meager lords,
who in such surfeit of survival knew
in languor of peace between and of themselves
not will nor wraith of that grim flame that
so rives the mighty temples of inconstant times
and maketh thus these lands anew.

So heralded by rising winter storms
and icy gloaming eve, came he,
unbridled from the 'placent bit,
bedress'd and arm'd for woeful clime,
with scepter'd sword and forged gown,
those shoulders meet to bear the mantle
of monarchy unyielding, imperious command,
and the reformation of all mien of life,
that specter borne on tempest's frigid gale,
his whisper bringing realms to heel,
that titan cast in gray-dusk shroud
against a far horizon's doom,
sighing empires to life, and thus called:
the Archon.

I am not the one you should be listening to


only nothing
and
you
and your lonely

exaltation

because you just never were

and you'll never be
and you couldn't be
and you shouldn't be

and you don't think it's fair

but I'm here to tell you stranger
yes beloved outcast


And we
no one


and we learned to like the pain
we learned
to wash it down with mercury (memory)
we learned
to fight if off with sorcery (sympathy)
we learned

never asked for anything
never gave you anything
never looked at you
heard you
helped you
hurt you








because you can't learn anything
can't love anything

you want to be there for me

so I'll say it again

I was watching the drama of waves
observing the architecture of unknowable uncertainties
regaled by the imposition of brazen creation
in capsules we mesmerized
the plastic we memorized
and set the ego aflame
in unnameable days

But I never wished for a preliminary existence
only wanted a disastrous exigence
yearned and dreamed for intricate abolishment
to cling to intoxicate
the reason we'd demonstrate
only for the years to disappear
and to learn how to wait

So I saw the echo of the sins we raised
and smiled back in vengeful reticence
digging up the seeds of this delirium
as I befriended the unworthy
for the ideal of my envy
to chisel this mechanic meaning
across the message of a name

This thought is a devastating demand.
And here I linger beyond repose
stranded in manic self-reflection
simulating despair in this charlatan mind
those breaths inevitable
like the tortured steps that carry me
from daylight nightmares
to the nothingness of dreams.

I wake to reminisce on insight
making moments for forgetting brilliance
mourning the memory of a self I knew
solemn and hollow,
this fetal insignificance tied to a futile cross
wasting my weeping on meaningless hurts.

As an eidolon, deified and objectified.
Inimically conscious.
Abandoned.
Ravaged.
Beloved, and alone.

I cannot read my own testament.
And I wish I knew why I cannot care.

You have entered the plague of my presence.
Grovel at my weakness.
Weep at my mortality.
Kiss my leprous hand,
and make your pledge.
Say that you're my friend.
You are welcome here, truly,
this the court of my dissolution,
halls of the downcast, the overthrown,
housing only the seat of my abjection,
my rotting throne.
At least I'm not alone.