Sovereignty of the Mourning Brat

Image by JL G from Pixabay

From the ashes of past

’till the shadow hereafter,

the wrath of my soul shall breathe you terror.

I will laugh and conjure the fire of the nameless stars

as I relish your agony and frolic in this crown of tar.

You let me down, little bird of the sky —

bound me to a life in silence.

You stringed my limbs as far as it could have lasted.

There’s nowhere to go in this world forlorn

for one who takes not the spear of divine role.

Caged in your own disaster,

you will yearn for my poison dagger.

The winds will deny your voice and swallow your words

as penitence for your narrow-mindness.

Give me your tears, Asinine of Unsuited Matters!

I shall drink the nectar transmuted in the entrails of your delightful mother,

and free the world as I drag you crestfallen.

Sigh of the Blooded March

Image by cocoparisienne from Pixabay

In a summer land, a kingdom of ice stands upright.

The sun perishes before the stroke which forces masses into stone.

The walls of a neutral core may break alone to give way

to grey rocky protrusions of painless pain,

and defy the natural order to command saline rain.

The shards are alive.

They contain the secrets long lost to men,

yet bane their gist exudes to the soul whose midst is uncouth and strained.

The fiend of the flat nourishment baits with the hand of flatter aliment.

The blob abhors that which translates to growth and refinement,

yet let abhorrence be the might of their supine power.

Down come the storm of glacial fire!

Wash our hands and lend us the eye of the deeper waters.

The shards breathe from borrowed life,

their iridescence stolen from the sweet guitar

that accompanies my cries every night.

Atavism of the Alligator

“Sí se puede”, I often heard. A phrase bearing the meaning of a possible endeavour, that it is possible to carry on and be victorious against the enemy.

Image Not By Alyona

“¡Sí se puede!”

I wondered what in soothe was possible, and then I said to myself, “It is possible to cry, to scream, and to die”.

Ruins will engage the eye with woe and nostalgia as the many pretty murals lauding comunism and the spooned psychological combat against an invisible adversary will display where all the care has been bent to.

Mother Nature stands as an entity uncorrupt. With semblance still virginal and fertile, she screams of potential; still her hand is vacant and devoid of pleasure.

Nature blossoms astoundingly vivacious as population is abased with everyday effort. But worry not, for it is possible. It is possible to be beaten and squeezed until the shores of the afterlife are reached. The war has already a victor in its own world of make-believe.

Image by Alyona
Image by baetzpetra from Pixabay

Easy it is to romanticise the land for her magnificent groves and mountains, for her promoted beaches. Only the inhabitants of this island reversed in time will reveal the truth that breath-taking pictures and the flora and fauna hide.

I have heard misery-conscious mouths avow that Cuba is delightful. Thus I wonder Do you find pleasure in starving? In being deprived of the basic untainted liquid that sustains life? If you enjoy the existing conditions so much, why don’t you stay and carouse until you putrify? Do you suffer from amnesia that when you depart you forget the sweat and the tears of the countrymen, or are you the kind to portray a deceptive reality to the ignorant eye? If that is so, I damn you to retrace your steps and recognise that common life takes after the appearance of a dump that overflows.

Withal dare say I that Cuba is an enjoyable land, beheld from the distance through some foreign godhead’s eye. Majestic in nature, death in the eye. Majestic in nature, oppression in the human heart.

With a raging sword poised to slice, I still wish to add that all of this I cannot chastise. Hard times forge individuals of a lofty stock. Warriors stand, strength surmounts all obstacles. People live mostly through what pertains to their personal and higher growth.

I wondered anew what was possible, and to myself I then said, “The magnitude of reality is felt through personal perception. It is all mental, and the learning process is eternal”.

Recollection

Image by David Mark from Pixabay

Hast thou ever wondered

the reason behind thy restless heart?

Something to ease the uneasiness

that conquers thy nights?

That which thou art able not to speak of,

for it wickedly hides somewhere in thy mind and eats thee alive?

It is inexorable torture!

An alleged bon that brings about corruption!

It is an impious knight of hollow eyes

who rides and dances upon a putrid carriage disguised in ecstasy

on the imparting of unavailing and treacherous promises.

Poor is he who yieldeth to his honey-like words!

Condemned is he who hath relished the kiss of such an atrocious Lord!

In my centuries of life,

his is a war to wage day and night.

Alas! Unwise I was.

He took me by surprise and forsook me behind god’s back.

~*~

At midnight, innocent eyes were open wide.

Moonlight brought about the mysteries fearful eyes denied.

“Look there!” cried the little old girl in dread.

A quiet ancient friend knelt by the corner at the feet of the bed.

He did not look at her in the eye,

yet she felt the weight of his coal-black sight.

But this world to its own laws.

Conveniently most inconvenient,

he vanished and never came back.

Ask Augustus what he did,

and tell it to me under the willow tree

that I may undo what she could not halt

before the gates of eternity closed.

Dominion

Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay

Virtue in shadows lies

with a will that bleeds to stand.

Come to the riverbank.

Shed your hopes and dreams.

Away they’ll be carried by the streams.

Bow ‘fore the daemon

and kiss the unholy hand.

Sing of song of a million sins

and unleash the Abyss within.

The Strange Case of the Orthodox Charm

Assaulted from the streams of craftily void-bedighted melancholy, a common man most strange set my insides on fire. The urge to walk away rivalled me at first, yet I won once I told myself that his lips I would claim.

Image by Prawny from Pixabay

The hissings of deflection echoed as the deviant moon weaved tales in my head.

“Danger!” they said. “Intoxication and dread!”

Some may argue that temptation had a role in this play, yet I say it was curiosity that drove me past the edge.

I wished to unravel the potential held in his spring-like cage.

I rose from the Underworld as a hunter for the prey.

Choirs of roses and chrysanthemums beclothed me as I danced above the frozen waters and stiff air.

The common man still strange reveled in the image of my luminous threads, bewitched by the songs that my soul firmly did reflect.

But fascination does not guarantee comprehension in a person.

To my picture, he cast his own ever disregarding with stupendous affright and unwavering creed the sinister light with whom he did speak.

As heartening and liberating as the strings of my instrument sounded, the essence of the message dissolved before the gates of his own encagement.

Image by Prawny from Pixabay

“You are my call and vocation”, he used to say, “but your words make and make no sense”.

In his narrow perception, my vision was untamed a will o the wisp most stubborn waiting for ground to lay and rest.

I foretold forthcoming pain. This man this walking flame breathed dead in his green meadow’s weight.

As captivated as I was, my judgement held onto me tight. Thus, in an April night, a full moon shone bright and to her I gave my woes and sang:

“If you must depart from me, leave.

If that is so, then let me go.

Just remember I was genuine”.

The saline ocean of my eyes poured to purify my being as indifference planted her seed in my soil of sleen.

May trailed in nonchallantly its rains a remainder of what I gave away as the common man ever strange ran away when my mind he could not overtake.

In my own unconcern, a part of me was not at rest. Detachment and the disrespect of a child most strange waged war within myself in the search of a balance that seemed too far away.

I embarked in the endeavour to slay the raging beast of my inlands, and with a chalice at hand, I sang anew at midnight.

Cardinal fire with earthly stare

saw a little flower and lost his head.

Saw the Abyss right through her eyes,

but could not hold the maelstrom inside.

~*~

Walking flame that burnt so bright,

met with Darkness, drowned himself in the tarry waters of the depths.

The night was witness to their descent,

and the daemoness sang in hazel duet:

“I let you go.

I let you go.

Despite it all, I let you go.

Go find yourself.

Go find your peace.

Clearly – visibly – my thorns are too rough for your skin”.

Image by Prawny from Pixabay

By lordly will, peace spread her tentacles and embraced me. Submerged in perfect apathy, I foresaw the man’s return.

With an injured head and grasping onto his last hope, he came to me for the nourishing of the spirit and the soul. In his exhausted vessel, he rose and wept before me that I may forgive his transgression.

“Fool!” he said, “I am a fool beyond consideration!”

“A fool indeed,” said I, “but I will look past this indignation”.

Despite my impartiality toward the matter, I chose to stay and see the direction of the case. In cold desire, I observed and learnt human behaviour. And, as habits of the lost go, this man most strange this walking flame ran away again when truth proved too strong for him to take.

Now, I had seen the cycle ’till the end. I returnt to my abode laughter in my core and erased all the trails that may lead to my door were the irresolute infant in a man’s shadow to return with promises that he cannot hold.

Image by Prawny from Pixabay

Half-way to Psychic Endeavour

Image by Prettysleepy2 from Pixabay

As we waited for our order in the pizza shop, a mother with her child walked in.

The child was inquisitive, and wanted his mother to buy him a colourful ball from a vending machine.

I shifted my attention to the little boy, and could not help but look at him beyond his human enclosure as to know more information about him.

The child’s tender behaviour charmed and amused the whole establishment – all eyes were on him.

In a way, his whole spectacle, reflected something as though it gave me an answer.

I forthwith tried to remember something.

I knew, yet I was not conscious yet.

I thought of that boy from childhood named José Carlos.

Before I could explore any further, the mother called her son by his name, Carlos.

I became conscious of that which I searched. Hearing his name was like obtaining relief after craving for something to fall on my head.

Thereafter, I pulled my consciousness away from him and addressed my companions.

Formula

Image by Morticrist

The acausal being needs not be worshipped or praised. He works wonders quietly, yet his touch is most strange. He did not fight, yet he pressed my cheek against the hardened ground to uproot my molars upside down.

Mirror Meditation

Image by pixel2013 from Pixabay

My reflection, at times, arches her lips as if to smile. This action only lasts a few seconds, yet it is a delight and a fright to behold it.

I have seen my reflection morph into that of a corpse-like figure. No bones showed. It was rather skin – canescent, dry, and old.

The other day, I saw my visage blend into that of a man. This male was pale and in what seemed to be his middle age. First, it was the white beard, but today, his eyebrows appeared. He does not feel as though a stranger to me, but I have always held the belief that I have been a woman in my incarnations.

When today’s session began, I worded the summoning of my true face. With still my same countenance, my eyes took the appearance of two pits of black. I blinked and trailed off a bit before continuing. Some features similar still to my current visage appeared – pieces of a man whom, to my mind, bears the resemblance of my father in his youth; but unlike him, this image sports a dark beard that encircles his face by the chin and under his lower lip. This man was bedighted in a rich blue tunic as though some elegant Middle Eastern tailoring.

Lastly, I was forced to change position. I had lost track of time, and my limbs had fallen asleep. With this change, a woman came to me. Her alabaster skin glowed in the shade erected by the backyard gazebo. Her eyes were undistinguishable, and her hair flowed as long raven waterfalls.

Footprint

Image by 2234701 from Pixabay

Come to me

when my lips are nigh to bleed.

The metal stingeth,

seeking the consolation of thy skin wintry.

I’ll take thine hand serpentine

and rest upon the scales of thy back.

Thee I’ll hold tight

and keep company ere I depart for war.

And thou shalt remember me by.

I’ll be the ghost of the cardinal’s song,

and the splashed crimson flow on thy walls galore –

a morsel tenderness and a wrath ceaselessly enthralled;

for if thou drawest a sun for the rest of thy life,

as well thou drawest one for the rest of mine.

Persevere and to thy being thou be truthful

in honour of the memory of her,

whose soul thee loved once for thyself.