My first poem here, basically about faith and determinism. |
According To the Fallen Birth, Life, Death; Eternity in the span of a phrase Words so fragile spoken louder than a breath They shatter and die; pass within the facets of time Lost within the catacombs of a heartbeat; A song with no rhythm or no rhyme Make whole again these empty eyes Mend these tattered wings; no longer neglect the child Who falls from her place straight down toward the sky Wingless angel, do not stay too long Amongst the children of iniquity you do not belong Nimbus about your head Weight which drags you down Make real these comfortable lies Continue to ascend down towards the ground Let thy father’s angels pour their bowls Still twisting, twirling, floating, falling toward the sky Descend and leave the nexus behind Stumble twice upon the block of your crimes Angel made marionette by choicelessness Strings and chains, ropes and cords; bound by selflessness Carved soulless by the swollen member Lies the shell, shattered as the coal’s ember Clothed in divinity’s light Marked by mortal plight Seraphim anchored down into the material body Become my guardian, become my chains Bind my heart, starve my soul Become my limiter, bare my pains Shed vacant tears from benign eyes Agapic raindrops of dower sympathy God who reaches down, man who grasp in the dark Never lost only blind, swallowed in distraction Live to struggle and open one’s eyes Naive day of serenity lights eternally the bright day Still falling down amongst the clouds Broken wings which send you round Place thine heart upon the self ruined altar Arabella is thy name A wreath of acquired lifelessness; a sea of empty eyes Vulture feathered Eros which circle about the vestige, The remnant of thy broken soul dashed upon the rocks Drain the blood from thy veins; seep strength from the center Breathe life into the empty shell Imbue the flesh with a spark; bestow the eyes Give words to the speechless mass Gift sight to the fumbling blind Make whole again these empty eyes; Mend these tattered wings Still twirling, twisting, slipping toward the sky Slain by kindness the blade of brevity That which once was turned corroded; the hand of Peace to close thine eyes Create the visage of such a blissful face To pierce the darkness of life’s repition To hold the flame in the palm of one’s hand— Is to hold the world. Only for the strong willed; the brief of heart The fire branded words of defiance Crush the spirit in tyrannical obstinance So may the consecration descend Float the seraph feathers broken away The tattered white robes made bright by divinity Limbs as bright pillars of fire; Let choice break the chains of stoicism Radiance to fill thine eyes, and spread the seraph’s wings wide. |