she is fair enough but beauty
can cloak only so much poison
underneath
the heavens all do whatever
seems right in their own eyes, for none yet remain
to show us the path of the
just
a few years ago
in the halcyon days of my childhood I remember teachers
warning me everyday,
every passing moment,
that we stray further from God’s light and now
more people than ever hear
without hearing, see
without perceiving
and though we are commanded to spread the truth
to all corners of the earth somehow I doubt
that this was what they were
imagining
a perfect world, the ancients thought that goodness
and beauty, they were one and the same and yet everyday
I simply see the world grow more
beautiful
Category: poetry
I’ve chased love and lovers coast to coast
Of the results, I have little to boast
Though I spent much of the winter
Charming lasses on Tinder
In the end, it still hurts to see them all ghost
Last night, I had some of the most vivid nightmares that I can recall from recent memory.
Dark have my dreams been of late
I glimpse within them fears, small and great
What could happen, what has been
Heroic deeds, heinous sin
These dreams, are they lies or are they my fate?
Someone called my sister a whore
This insult, I felt I could not ignore
My face taut and grim,
I blinked not as I shot him
And laughed as he bled out on the floor
The years pass, but I never forget the truth
That she averted her eyes from my abuse
My dreams, they are strange
My memories, rearranged,
I was saved by she who abandoned me in my youth
A young boy begged for mercy on his knees
He was beaten, no one minded his pleas.
This dream, it was brief
I woke up in relief
Then remembered, that little boy, he was me.
such a shame
that even a man like you could fall
so far. they say
you lived a century
of life but really you were gone long
before then, reduced
to a husk, flesh
on bones with no
heart or soul underneath
you they care nothing for, your death
note speaks only of those
you served, not even those you should
have served though perhaps
it is better that way
after all, though trust may be
the coin of the realm what trust
have you left after
selling out your own grandson, your own
flesh and blood when he came
to you — on his knees begging
for deliverance only to see you
abandon him
for the adoration of they who care
nothing for you
they acted surprised it was you, a man
of honor
but you lay in bed with snakes
all of your days so how could you depart
in old age from the choices of your youth?
the truth is simple: you died
long ago, when you chose,
not the ignominious struggle that is the life of Men
but the honor and glory, wealth and renown that comes with being
a puppet
Inspired by recent events, the Satrapy, and an old, unfulfilled desire to write poetry.
Musings of a Memorymancer 