Sunday, July 22, 2012

Heartstones


Every Heartstone
Is cast away alone.
Swallowed in a dream,
Carried by the stream:
A crimson flash!
Wrinkles that splash
Like a dying moon,
Or ephemeral tune,
Mature and pass
Against bright shore grass.

The water is wide
Hiding the past inside,
A History of Heartstones
Beyond what thrown;
Beyond size, shape, color
And distinctive marker,
The ties between shadows
Where light truly glows,
The unseen tragedy
Of collective memory.

Monday, January 30, 2012

LUNO

LUNO

Part 1: CLOTHO

Slaving away – crafting and molding –
The old creator sits silently sculpting,
A skilled master of his craft.
But in flows a cold draft:
A memory that haunts,
Together, with the fire, it taunts.
He knows the justice will come
For he lies within the atrium
Between guilt and innocence,
His hands he cannot rinse.
The deed was sound,
But he knows he will be bound:
Theft of that which ought to be shared,
For valiance he will be marred.
The craftsman breathes in the omen,
Awaits retribution for altruistic sin,
And returns to his project,
Searching for any defect,
Any mistake or element forgotten.
Before completion he is taken –
He fights – not in opposition,
But in support of his creation,
For it is not yet whole:
The figure contains no soul.
This animate empty shell
To an adverse earth it fell,
Knocked over in the arrest
As the creator screams his best.
Shot from the sky, as if fired from a gun –
A crash – and it slams into the ocean.
Man with no soul, heart with no voice
This is Luno – life is now his choice.


Part 2: LACHESIS

Dropped without intention,
The soulless outcast creation
Left alone – naked and cold –
Luno, with hair of gold,
Skin of bronze and strength of steel,
The one made ideal,
Floats quietly in isolated sea
Watching an eagle fly free,
Admiring the freedom
Swirling like a mocking maelstrom.
The joy of a successful catch,
The anger when talons unlatch,
The love felt for collective kin,
Luno knows he should feel chagrin
As he witnesses true life:
The mixture of mirth and strife.
Waves transport him to shore
From within comes a roar,
The trumpet of a crusade –
Critical of the defect made.
An innate indefinite feeling
Leads to enter the forest burning,
One foot in front of the other,
Compelled toward his father.
This connection unknown
From stitches he had sewn,
Pieces he fit
To the spark he lit –
The father and the son
Long to be one.
And so, Luno searches,
Through forests and marshes,
Over sharp snowy peaks,
To anyone, he speaks:
Following every frivolous lead
With great zeal and speed,
Always to no avail,
Eternally doomed to fail.
Cities expire as years pass,
People break and shatter like glass,
But Luno remains solid.
Death outlasted.
His search had never ceased
Until one day in the east,
Under a strong oak,
A man in a dark cloak,
Accompanied by an eagle bold
With feathers of majestic gold,
Offers a misty solution:
A magnificent talisman –
The Avian Amulet.
A trinket he would not forfeit
Barring a trade.
For his creator, Luno paid,
Perpetual servitude.
Darkness imbued.


Part 3: ATROPOS

Advancing forth from solitude,
Leaving life left blued,
Soaring into the tomorrow
The bards leave hollow
That seers and soothsayers
Blur with shades and colors
That survive the gradual decay
From the fear of today.
Beating faster – wings of gold –
He rises into the cruel cold,
Shattering the empty horizon,
Cutting through clouds broken,
And the forgotten truth left
Burning in the common theft.
The frost on his feathers
Thaw from lung-lit fires,
The fool is finally free
To reveal the lonely;
The brave, valiant martyr,
The raped, veiled father.
The blazing heart way away
Pulling Luno from decay –
A purpose with no meaning,
A life with no ending.
Over seas of soaring snow,
A peak with warm glow –
The spirit that burns
Within the man of irons,
Shackled to brutal boulders,
Stripped of all armor –
Luno zooms through air
In an attempt to spare
From evils furies permit
While the lanterns stay lit.
Yet the father aims to expel
As the sky begins to swell,
Cries over mountain tops
Clash and quickly drop.
Until a flash – silences –
And the cloaked man emerges.
Facing his conversion,
He states his true intention
Of the gilded present
And Luno’s payment:
Eternally cursed to the blue,
Luno is tasked to chew,
To rip and to tear,
Through the father bare
And devour the nature within.
This shocking cycle now begins.
For years through centuries,
Luno doth appease,
Obeying the wicked pact
And the scales of contract,
Destroying his own father
For the raided master,
Feeling nothing – his sin –
Even beside loving kin.
Luno maintains this torment
Until stricken by one sent,
One fated to free the prisoner
And end the incessant torture.
Staring into the heavens
As chains smash – he listens –
Eyes sealed in harmony,
Dreams of impending beauty,
Into the sky, his final song does fly,
Luno liberates his last moonlit sigh.

Monday, December 5, 2011

The Island

Blossoming over virgin waters,
Isolated from piercing eyes,
The toxic touch of mortal monsters,
And their vile, ignorant lies,
Meadows of countless colors
Flow with the cerulean skies.

Blessed with eternal spring,
Bulbs of every size and shade
Explode with life, sparkling,
Filling every vacant glade,
The memories reawakening.
Lives in the mind replayed.

Eternally lit by the bright Olympian,
Darkness lives as mere shadows:
Escorting the trees and the mountain
And the resting busy swallows
Searching for the seafaring man
Who dare search for these meadows.

For tis not a place for discovery,
Rather, it is an island of privilege,
Of honor and of sympathy.
The warrior of virtue, the ruler of knowledge,
Those who righteously seize opportunity
Can endure the posthumous voyage,
Pass ethereal gates of serenity
And live in this image.

Monday, October 10, 2011

Dreaming

I left a Dream in the purgatory of my mind
To fester and rot where none can find.
But there, the corpse is enshrined,
Nursed by the final evil of Pandora,
Secured by the unwelcome aura.

I cannot be saved by the death of the Dream
No matter how I try and scheme:
Buried and forgotten – a faint scream.
Drowned and discarded – a stubborn breath.
They only truly expire with my death.

Saturday, October 8, 2011

Part 2: Life

Dropped without intention,
The soulless outcast creation
Left alone – naked and cold –
Luno, with hair of gold,
Skin of bronze and strength of steel,
The one made ideal,
Floats quietly in isolated sea
Watching an eagle fly free,
Admiring the freedom
Swirling like a mocking maelstrom.
The joy of a successful catch,
The anger when talons unlatch,
The love felt for collective kin,
Luno knows he should feel chagrin
As he witnesses true life:
The mixture of mirth and strife.
Waves transport him to shore
From within comes a roar,
The trumpet of a crusade –
Critical of the defect made.
An innate indefinite feeling
Leads to enter the forest burning,
One foot in front of the other,
Compelled toward his father.
This connection unknown
From stitches he had sewn,
Pieces he fit
To the spark he lit –
The father and the son
Long to be one.
And so, Luno searches,
Through forests and marshes,
Over sharp snowy peaks,
To anyone, he speaks:
Following every frivolous lead
With great zeal and speed,
Always to no avail,
Eternally doomed to fail.
Cities expire as years pass,
People break and shatter like glass,
But Luno stays solid.
Death outlasted.
His search had never ceased
Until one day in the east,
Under a strong oak,
A man in a dark cloak,
Accompanied by an eagle bold
With feathers of majestic gold,
Offers a misty solution:
A magnificent talisman –
The Avian Amulet.
A trinket he would not forfeit
Barring a trade.
For his creator, Luno paid,
Perpetual servitude.
Darkness imbued.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Part 1: Birth

Slaving away – crafting and molding –
The old creator sits silently sculpting,
A skilled master of his craft.
But in flows a cold draft:
A memory that haunts,
Together, with the fire, it taunts.
He knows the justice will come
For he lies within the atrium
Between guilt and innocence,
His hands he cannot rinse.
The deed was sound,
But he knows he will be bound:
Theft of that which ought to be shared,
For valiance he will be marred.
The craftsman breathes in the omen,
Awaits retribution for altruistic sin,
And returns to his project,
Searching for any defect,
Any mistake or element forgotten.
Before completion he is taken –
He fights – not in opposition,
But in support of his creation,
For it is not yet whole:
The figure contains no soul.
This animate empty shell
To an adverse earth it fell,
Knocked over in the arrest
As the creator screams his best.
Shot from the sky, as if fired from a gun –
A crash – and it slams into the ocean.
The man with no soul, the heart with no voice
This is Luno – life is now his choice.

Saturday, August 20, 2011

Black Velvet

A shroud over a body torn
Disguising in the dark ditch –
A sin of living rags –
The quick fix of velvet stitch.

A hood of the dark fabric
Hiding the identity of deceit –
The murderous demon –
The abyssal father calls down to meet.

A blanket of black velvet
Patted with holes of light
Shrouds the death taken,
Robs the innocence of sight.

This dark masquerade
Evil evolved into art,
A ballad to black velvet,
Each player played the part.