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Due to the Muse


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I'm fully awake, and expect things to kick off soon(ish).

Everybody’s Preface
A child’s giggling brings delights unforeseen,
Mysteries, friendship and worry untold,
And all uncertainties that lie between,
The pains of birth, death, and the common cold.

So, on lustrous wings, with joy in your bones,
Cascade feathers to shine in every gorge,
And bleed rubies to drip down twilight thrones,
Deny the blacksmith of your lifetime's forge.

Her hot, nibbling teeth belonged to my ear,
As she uttered her enthused flirtation,
With curls so dark, she released me from fear,
Though her roaming eye ordained devastation.

Each opening of perception’s doors,
Reveals kind demons or an angel’s screams,
Forever aim to martyr through your wars,
You must live then live, define what I mean.

In a grassy meadow there grew a tree,
Glistening, still, and lush, though old and bent,
Ravaged by the wind, raggedy yet free,
Forever the source of its own content.

It emits no chuckles, no sylvan games,
There is no transgression it can commit,
Or experience love’s impassioned flames,
Our lifetimes are like diamonds—it exists.

The young are defective, imperfect titans,
A sadness fuels the hungry fire of youth,
For each revelation shall enlighten,
For each revelation grants insight and truth.

To age is to weather that hurricane,
Monotonous, mediocre, and stale,
Our youth is where the celebration remains,
Though it is your dotage that keeps you hale.


Marco Polo
I woke upon the sun, posing as a king,
I swam the oceans, trailing secret queens,
I travelled through malevolent nations,
Only I have seen… it is my meaning.

I braved thirsty dunes, strumming a broken harp,
I tasted dark angels’ tears and drenched my heart,
I called on starving lions, roaring aloud,
My hungry yearning… It is my meaning.

The sparkle in my eyes, I mined from friends,
The wounds on my wrists, were exactly incised,
I ride on griffins over fields and lakes,
It is my meaning… And my life to make.

Forgive Me
The eyeless beggar’s finger traced my face,
His hands divulging an effortless grace,
Communing that I should surrender my race,
I was too deaf to reply, so disgraced.

The scent of her perfume was the portent,
That led me to foretell the low event,
That his roaming gaze would bring discontent,
And now all that we shared I must lament.

My incisors stabbed through the stringent skin,
I lapped and sucked at the juices within,
My heart then stuttered its bombarding din,
As the venom inside concluded my sins.

Allow, I beg, for this moment to pass,
My offences missiles destined to crash,
And before the explosion roasts me to ash,
For your forgiveness is all that I ask.

The Flames
Hypnotized, I stare at red, crackling flames,
Gazing beyond their ravenous embrace,
A world without sordid riches, or fame,
I despise this dreary, decadent place.

This place: a comedy, a farce, a joke,
Grinning skulls decree their greedy notions,
As titans strike at indifferent folk,
And desire is crowned the queen of emotions.

I repress the urge to cremate my phone,
To revel as it bursts like a rocket,
I never invite salesmen to my home,
Yet I cart this prostitute in my pocket.

Adverts for merchandise that we all crave,
Establishing binding strictures on our thoughts,
Entwining our minds, so that we behave,
To contemplate only what we have not got.


The Battle
My battered shield is my onerous shame,
A funeral shroud entwined round and round,
My thirsty blade is the narcotic blame,
That gently devours, drags everyone down.

My longing for deliverance sears, it burns,
I must escape this desert, this wasteland,
Its barren shadows elongate, they worm,
Curving maggot fingers in mute command.

My goal, to evade this eternal gloom,
Out the glimmering gate, so close, in sight,
My only egress from this awful tomb,
I struggle towards its heavenly light.

The guard, he looms, defiant and dark,
Unsheathes his sword, an aside with his weapon,
A ragged razor, serrated, so stark,
It never wavers, until he beckons.

I thrust in methodical ferocity,
I perforate like a sadistic surgeon,
I execute a dream atrocity,
Triumphant as a victorious virgin.

Whilst I stomp upon his bloody remains,
A strange sensation seizes through my hands,
Like my fingers are restrained by spectral chains,
I freeze, as time dispenses waxen sand.

Abruptly still, a statue sealed in hate,
I am accursed, for it never occurs,
As I forget myself, forget escape,
To fling my weapons down and lie in the dust.

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  • 6 months later...

Dispossessed Bodies
She wanders dissolute spheres, stepping forth,
From the fissure, now a maze, a garden,
The senate of desire, which rules the North,
Installs trappings, billboards so demanding.
Clicking, clacking heels, so red, contagious,
Ensnared in crumbly pavements. Do I dream?
I question, not asleep, not umbrageous,
I am awake and immune to their schemes.
She moves the crowds, disgusting in cocoons,
A glass of wine, Gucci suits, a model,
Revolving on display, the doors that boom,  
On enslaved celebrities that toddle.
On homeless, reeking in rank camouflage,
On a sleek Maserati, zooming past.


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Candid contemplation simmers the clouds,  
Its bounty drips, to furrow thirsty ground,
Sowing golden kernels—ready the plough,
To nourish the starved, insatiable crowds,
Crafting a garden, so fruitful and free,
A verdant landscape, with fables to see,
So bountiful, those magnificent seeds,
Then they hack at the heartwood, commercially,
They spoil the flock, eradicate the trees,
And cast contaminants into the breeze,
Corporations ordained this foul disease,
For free expression is prohibited,
Littering a barren waste with the works,
Of dreary, doomed, and irrelevant clerks.


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Titan on the stairwell

Flexing my tendons within this chasm,
Causes awful cramps as tethered sinews spasm,
Hungering for the light,
Hunkered on all fours through eternal night,
Desolate, restless,  
Damned and aggressive.
Scarred, disfigured fingers creep to find,
Ridges of decaying stone that bring to mind,
Recollections, a stair,
Stirring new emotion into despair,
Silky, sweetest hope,  
Shredding rotten ropes.
Breathing renewed life on ancient bones,
Stirring quick as I ache to reclaim my throne,
Dormant for long aeons,
Lonesome harbinger, terrible scion,
Bled my kindred dry,
Death is my reply.
Wasted muscle stands taut on my arm,
Skeletal now, once so powerfully strong,
Murderous is my wrath,
Saccharine sun bleeds down in blinding shafts,
Burning ruby eyes,
Ruin is my prize.
Harvest of the titan, long presaged,
Swimming through blood until the end of all days,
Longing, I must be free,
Living avatar of catastrophe,
Clambering the stairs,
Sullying the air.


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In Service To The Muse
She sharpens knives in the heat of desire,
She steps unmolested through raging fire,
The heavens open and I let thoughts drift,
Until I am sodden, soaked to the skin,
Fervently yoked in service to the muse.
She shattered me, destroyed the life I led,
Enticed me to the sweetness of her bed,
The moon glowers from her heavenly face,
I yearn for nothing, except her embrace,
Fervently yoked in service to the muse.
She comes unbidden, though never unsought,
She often comes sweetly when I have not,
She is untarnished by the strife of man,
And I remain, hopeful dreamer that I am,
Fervently yoked in service to the muse.


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