Where he was

Whether there, nor here, a leak so sore,
And whirling through the ages past is gone,
And musing can it not shine light once more,
These steps he ought to walk before they run,
A smoothing sound, a familiar sound he rose,
Now breathes an air ill-fresh, nisc, contrite,
Ere all the life he once he had is gone to pose,
Seemingly in the dark, hidden in memory to fight.
The hours roll by, as always, by day and week,
He forgot the life he once had in a near-gone past,
Like a scent, these memories had succumbed so weak,
To gather a perfume, to shade a natural scent fast,
So that none would wonder where he is come to where,
Thus is ought to say he’s simply that from where he is,
This rapid change of constant revision as a train fare
When no one notices, then freezes at such remarked fizz,
It all seems a distraction he thinks, and no one cheers,
The western parts fared better, but it’s all gone now,
Now he says he’s back where he was, like all those years
Of seeking and hoping, come sought and hope for now,
Is stability brought, but yearns for unstable fraught,
Let me fall again! Just so I know I live, he says,
But no time is come than ill-got of present thought,
So when he’s finally that, then he knows his ways.

 

niesc = short form for omniscient

*

An echo follows a shadow unbecoming
Whose daring eyes need not fall behind,
Now is the time a foot walks ahead another,
Meagre means of meaning mused for muted music
Cast, oh cast despair whose cross is crossed.
Glory to the Silent of all Silent God witness,
Now spare a bread and all water for wine shared,
‘Tis all but wrought, alack whose beliefs waned,
Hence baptised from young now dreams an angel death,
Grieves not his passing tale of woe and lone breath,
In the abyss of vacuum fair, a spell if shone Hearth
The kick of soul from Jupiter sought. Is He Sought?
So forgive his past, forgive all happened, give pill;
Echo away, these chants of woe and will so sing delay,
An arch of faith so present his rosary is just anew,
No pope to chant, nor boy to sing, nor man to mourn.
Here’s the whisper of heart, the shout of man:
A blind man now is sorely from birth in ought believe.
In the light of shadow, nor Earth can cast a shadow,
A man lay there, in hourly breath, his heart is now.

In He

Rain on me a delectable taste of God divine,
Pray there the Cube upon which the banner holds,
Like flames engulfing the light then new; resign.
A leaping faith to mine in words of rich and old,
An art so thick these words are ecstatic and loud,
My grief is wrought for a sign that He listens near,
So when I’m here alone may I be never lone in sound,
Now night is summoned, give word for once mine ear,
To drink each word with single gulp my throat to swell
Shall give me leave in names of He I thus recite,
For each breath becomes pause in time to dwell
Whilst the Earth is sunk through He ne not in sight.

*

Will curse the first guy to call you freak,
For I myself am as freakless as they call freak,
Nor claws to strike, nor eyes to stare,
Nor fur to harness, nor love so bare,
Nor teeth so sharp, nor skin so coarse,
Nor breathe in hollow form, my art divine;
Nor punch mine heart, who longs more to God;
Nor cursed, nor demons spare, an art align,
Meat devour, for this, my love is new,
Nor Muslim, nor Jew, nor Priest, nor Prince;
I’m the heroin whose pain is subtle and bright,
I’m the coke whose battles fought are yours lone,
The meth whose pleasure alone is yours to have,
The God of mine whose silence utters not name,
Give me soul to love and hug, so that I’m whole,
So when I’m beyond the Earth, above the Moons
Of Jupiter so high and then I’m looking yond,
A light beyond our System fraught with silence
Now darkened by a single star we call our Sun,
Now cherish the beauty of perfection silent taught
When we land on the brightest dark in the black.

When he speaks

Listen: the sound of cool breeze and swift cars pass. These days grow new and eschew old in streams to an ocean of memory await. A long time has past since we fought, then we knew nought what it was. There was a boy long ago who constantly did, never ceasing; he would argue and attempt persuasion to an argument fraught with nought the meagre void for which they were. It seemed clear that none was the wiser, but he still persisted. Could we have been mistaken he was a fool? Well, I’m not sure; but he was thinking ahead, but now he’s shut in the bowels of a decreased mind in ware resolve.

So, we went to the river and looked ahead, and I saw him drooping with a head low down. It seemed like nothing at first. Though a single expression he showed, it was the rest he sowed. The rest was what I wanted to hear. He could not begin to express them, as he was in such a state that he knew not his real self. He knew not who he was or the very element of such an existence. I would say he’s neurotic, but that is enough pejorative than he could muster and solely accept. Bring him here, along the banks. A slow walk to the river, but there were toadstools and a sort of retreat from everything. It was peaceful here. Somehow, I thought he’d be himself. Let him wait. Let him move on. Close your eyes; breathe; become yourself.

Talking to himself he was, I knew it; he would. That’s who he is. No one could truly understand him, but that’s why we love him. He’s a mystery in some ways because he expresses so much without his expressing such himself. A man in a dark cave would see all in the light but not himself, and those exiled from whence could not see the man he is, but hear only faint words and a gasp for breath through each vowel ushered in the fold that cracks the tree.

Whether these troubles ill or will, nor the solutions apt or sapped, the leaves shall still grow again the next spring, once the cold is spent; the ice is thawed. Now, give a bird her nest and let us be free; leave your problems there: four-score a threat is that which resides within. So dark is this come mind; see the light, now breathe it out so I can at least get some rest!

“I tried, but I can’t.” He claims. “It would not be the same without me. I try to be good, but it doesn’t work out good. I fail in everything and I try to succeed in hopes of compensation.” But this compensation, for what? You are whole, and need not compensate for your losses for there was never no loss to begin with! “Now, I see. There’s a loss in your logic, but now I exceed your bounds of reasoning with my flaws in prose and rhyme”. Not not could it be his wits, then let it sing through this, nor walk through river to swim, now leave that so grim-

“Perhaps. But I’m not ready.”

A trip to all those who know, and being with new folk will make a difference. Open yourself as you did a child and let the good change you. The bad have changed you at that age to grow you a man as you are now; but it doesn’t have to be that way. Do not let them win. You are better than that.

“Perhaps; but I don’t know what I want.”

You want to be yourself again. You’ve succeeded. You are yourself here. Now, with every step you walk from here shall you plant a seed that shows who you are, where you are and when you are.

But that’s how I feel when blue

Ere mine hour is a little so queer,
Give me a bit of white, some wine,
I’m a little chic, so I’m that freer
Then I’m a spaz for these eyes a line
Had widened so well. Now I’m a brink,
Silly dream I had, a lion on Saturn!
Who’s the breeze, if I attempt a wink!
Alright then, no dance for here and turn!
Bring a sax, I’m in the mood for a gist
Whom come might may ere lid flame get,
Sunk my tongue in a glass then pissed,
Now I’m so blue with no yellow forget.
Right, an owl hoots at twelve ne gay,
Nor mute is Gab bending for this pet,
He’s a gay chap, give slap for a way
Untoward the breeze to think I’m to let!
Oh! I’m a little too gay for some to be,
Hold me close whilst i recite this song,
It won’t be till I’m finished with you,
Then am I then sure this moon so long
Give me humes: chast my mood so blue!
When I’m so blue, all I do is laugh;
Ere my laugh is spent, I’m again blue!
So we’ll give a folk some breather ‘nough,
I’m too gay to say enough, now my hue
Is. A. Thing to be wigged in breath fought!
An angel sings a name then I’m so gay!
Blue on the moon, now I’m breathing fraught.

*

A horse rides in the midst of mind and sand,
Ne gaze neath the hooves from whose rider brew,
A sudden madness, and the drops of rain short.
Give commas and colons an argument present,
A lady in waiting strangled by fate is fought,
Ye give reasons he should not pass you by,
Ne friend, ne breathing not, ne thinking nor
Shall he picture a woman hoisted at sea,
Nor from the east, nor of the west at bay,
From afar he watches tears of grace befallen,
A storm in heart breathes ripples yet slow,
Yet breathing in the water is a lidless word,
And a cracked Earth whose ground it shakes,
I’m breathing water and drinking a harsh cold,
Give me all figs that God had so me concealed,
Let these waves of words wash upon your figure,
Crash that dress in white till salty urchins reap,
Whose Madonna I perverse a niche figure retain,
Do your eyes not give leave your gaze upon a sky
So rich in spoils of hope and colour you lay waste?