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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Drown

A stream of silver quietly breathes,

Soft touch caressing the shoreline,

Cradling my feet in the shallows,

Securing a starlit shrine.

The water – cold and calm –

Rippling with the slightest shift,

Suffocating me with fluid cushions,

Watch an ashen aviator slowly drift.

The river speaks and calls:

An invitation to go down,

To which I accept –

And happily drown…

The Belfry

Repeating visions in my mind:

Are they dreams?

Or are they deadly premonitions,

A future tearing my reality at the seams.

The blinded sight of the dark belfry:

Hidden by stars and surrounding blackness,

An ominous tower of midnight stone,

Waiting to strike from the darkness.

Bells ring a soundless noise,

Heard only by those who cannot,

Calling them forth,

Answers these wanderers sought.

And so forever they roam,

Hearing what cannot be seen,

The mischievous elusive Tempter

Commanding the night over land unclean.

The hooded torturer inside the belfry

Pulls hard on the chains of the bell

Denying seekers permission to see

Living in a personalized hell

But the man in the cloak,

The evil spirit and belfry master,

Is the aged reflection of my mirror

Turned a deadly jester.

Is this the end of my path?

Is the right-hand safer than the left?

Is this a simple nightmare

Or will my soul become victim to theft?

The Phoenix

The majestic phoenix inside

Is but a frail thing,

It can succumb to old age

And wither away to nothing.

As long as it resides within

It shines with fiery intensity,

Bestows a light of warmth

And bequeaths mercy.

But if fate cloaks the phoenix

In a shroud of shadows,

Is forgotten or left alone,

Its ashes become a sea of sorrows.

With a single word or simple stare

The phoenix can be annihilated -

With a single word or simple stare

The phoenix can be reignited.

It can go missing but never lost,

It can grow dark but never cold,

Hopes and dreams keep the ashes ready

For you to return and break the mold.

Apostle of Darkness

Before Lazarus was buried in a sepulcher,

Before Hades stole the daughter of Demeter,

Before a spear of mistletoe murdered Baldur,

Before Chronos first waved his scepter,

The Apostle sat alone with his dagger.

In the world of obscurity and blackness,

Atop his dusk throne, his highness

The Apostle commanded the shadows voiceless,

Cimmerians, the shadows lifeless,

In the darkened world flawless.

But the Apostle despised meaningless immortality,

He dreamed of a world where life is deadly,

A place cloaked by the shadow of mystery

And wrapped in a veil of beauty,

Thus the Apostle thrust his knife into reality.

He cut and carved with all his might,

Yearning to escape eternal night

After years of labor, the Apostle cut a gash of white

And the blood that flowed forth was light

For him, this brilliant vein was pyrite

Many Cimmerians escaped into the incision,

Forfeited immortality to be merely human,

But the Apostle could not escape his coffin,

Forever condemned to be the darkness warden

In the land across the world ocean.

All but a few left the Apostle alone,

Into his creation and the vast unknown.

Still he watches, viewing every fatal cyclone,

Observing every death and subsequent moan,

Constantly wishing he could abandon his throne.

Jewels of Glass

Amidst the vast sea of sand

Bright crystals of hope doth stand,

Against the desert so grand,

Refusing to kiss the hand,

Hostile toward the command,

Of monochromatic land.

Jewels the great star remade,

Diverse in color and shade -

The sand attacked and betrayed

In their unholy crusade,

Buried to make colors fade.

Jewels hidden and buried,

Are converted and stymied,

Pressured to sand and proceed

To join the sad grains serried.

And thus few jewels now shine -

The pearls buried deep resign

Under pressure, live supine.

False sea of tranquility -

Sea of similarity.

Where jewels of glass perish…

The Phantom

Surviving day by day,

Completing every task

Unnoticed and unattended

As if hidden behind a mask

Wander in silence,

The tangible phantom,

Like a soldier

Following the drum.

The self only confirmed

By the shadow in the mirror,

The wretched reflection

Of the rejected creature.

One lucky day,

The mirror fails to reflect.

The body expired,

Eager for Death to collect.

The drum is silenced,

Lost in the mist,

Life continues in spite

As if the phantom did not exist.

Return

I am the corpse.

Dead with no remorse.

I decay and mold,

In the dark, in the cold,

Naught but dust to own,

And the flesh on my bone.

Men consumed by darkness

Left me in the nothingness,

Left me in the oblivion.

Alone under the sun,

Beneath burning beams

Amongst forgotten dreams

Dark light begins to glow,

My blood begins to flow.

I scream in silence,

The eyes seek guidance,

This life has returned,

Death has adjourned.

But will you yet mourn,

For the one broken and torn?

A spirit the body molests,

The one ravaged by pests.

To resolve what went unsaid,

For you I return from the dead.

Taken By Death

He who wields the scythe

Stalks the shadows of life,

Awaiting the impending massacre.

Raining blood in this future,

The wicked twist of screams

Rips reality at the seams

Until silence grips the throats.

Sent over Styx on private boats,

The condemned warriors of Death

Follow his every breath,

Continue this dismal cycle,

He stalks the shadows with a smile.

The fields freshly painted crimson,

Decorated with bodies and garnished with sin,

Battlefields ensnare the globe,

Everything under the gloom of his robe

Until completely engulfed by shadow.

The world now his to freely go,

A planet of the deceased,

Death enjoys his feast.

Queen of the Night

The monarch on her star-lit throne

Commands the skies with melancholic crone,

Her kingdom the gods had sewn,

The Queen of the Night rules alone.

She rules with eternal might,

The resilient Queen of the Night

Commands both darkness and light,

Granting the fortunate sight.

She possess all – every moon, every star,

All beings, near and far,

But every star creates a bar

To trap the queen deeper in the tar.

For although the queen stands tall -

Lives immortal and cannot fall -

She remains alone in her hall,

In her eyes every being is but a doll.

Every additional subject in her dominion

Reinforces her sad realization:

There is no harmonized creation.

There is no simple solution.

Aught I use a knife?

Sever the bonds of this restrictive life,

Cause chaos and untold strife,

All to be another’s wife?

The Queen elects to deduct any crisis

And sacrifices her private happiness.

The queen returns into the darkness

Alone, to the castle in the abyss.