C’est La Vie

mipic_3julsrzwuvblhckx_rlw_1000

 

 

I remember

the fire and the ice and the winds and the waves

but I’ve forgotten

her smile

the way he used to laugh;

such is life, they say

but time

has carved away at the cliff face of my memories,

the same way sand carves away at the stones upon the seashore.

 

I remember

everything we left unspoken

but I’ve forgotten

the words we spoke, under the unfaithful stars.

I remember the ending,

but not how it all began,

because such is life,

or at least that’s what they say.

 

I remember

my life in symphony with yours;

such was our life, together –

and such is how it ended –

two divergent paths,

having met at a crossroads,

inevitably returning to their separate ways –

an ill-fated love,

doomed from the start;

but such is life.

Advertisements

Love, Vanquished

pexels-photo-556663

 

 

“Why don’t you write a joyful poem?”

S’il vous plait,” she says to me,

“Poetry”- a subject about which we have spoken comparatively little,

“Is mournful by nature.”

 

I am struck, as if by lightning,

Not by her seeming revelation

About the nature of the artform in question,

But by the formality of her please.

 

She is one of those dying breed of people –

The ones who understand with brutal intimacy

The difference between te and vous,

The ones who use language like the fine edge of a blade,

Ruthless, remorseless, ravenous,

Knowing just where to wound –

How to throw salt upon one’s soul

So it will strike those pulsing, jagged wounds,

How to wield a fire, wild to the last,

And tame it.

 

I am silent,

And she switches back to English,

But I cannot speak,

Not in one language, nor in two.

 

Poetry,

I’ve found,

Is, indeed, mournful by nature,

Not unlike the art of love.

Devil May Cry

fallen-angel

 

 

The Prince of Hell was wearing a crown of thorns,

And the fruits of the tree had similarly fallen, ripe and round and ready,

Upon the fertile soil of an Eden in sublime abandon,

And Lucifer’s heart, hollow by day,

Had drunk deeply of the dusk light

In a world upon which the sun never set,

But now, as night bled into day,

He wondered how to strike his devil’s bargain with the unmerciful clock,

Contemplated why so many philosophers

Had wondered how many angels can dance upon the head of a pin,

When it was so clear to him

That he was the only one who would ever be made to do so;

“The Devil made me do it,”

He’d say, delirious,

As another night passed,
Dreamlessly.

Sacrilege

icarus

 

The trees

Look like the sea of my dreams,

Today.

 

They are the rough waters

Into which I have fallen,

And these November currents

Are as brutal as they come.

 

They are fragments

Of a different life,

The one I’d thought I’d live,

The one that came and went

As swiftly as Lucifer did,

His chains swinging, singing as they fell,

And Him –

Weeping, not for himself,

But for mankind.

 

They are the fault lines

Upon which my city is built,

The fractalized wooden sentinels

That stand in lieu of worshippers

Within the House of the Savior

After it’s abandonment

Some time long and long ago.

eschatology: a poem

beam-me-up-goddy

 

(Eschatology: Noun. The theological study of the fate of the world.)

 

I am the rain that falls,
Redemptive;

I am the wind
That wearies the wanderer.

I am the silence
That befalls all sound.

Kingdom Come: Young Gods

Hello, all! I made an AMV based on Kingdom Come, my latest space opera. Join Wren (Lady Earth) and Dareh (King Jupiter) as they peruse the wing of the Jovian Royal Galleries dedicated to ‘lost’ Earth art.

Kingdom Come will be a trilogy featuring King Jupiter, his Queen – the Lady Earth – and his Prince Consort, Zephyr Zaia of Earth, as well as his former lover, Lord Mars (Resheph), as they fight to save the Outer Worlds from a civil war that threatens to spill into the neutral territory of Earth. The fight for Earth will see ancient alliances brought to the breaking point and the Lord Planets will find themselves racing against Time itself to save their people and their brethren. Will the fighting end with the Nine Worlds in flames, or can King Jupiter rally his forces before all is lost?

 

Youth

dandelion-bess

 

I can think of no better metaphor

Than the glorifying sun

Yielding to the inkwell of the night

At the end of everything;

Time – such a cruel mistress –

Finally running out,

The sand in the hourglass

Surrendering the last of itself

At the journey’s end;

And, at long last, it was over.