I am my own frustrations
For there is no seperate
What I see
I believe
And become
So lookout.
I ride the borealis
With wild eyes and spitfire
A demon
In my heart
Runs wild
Late at night.
Now vegabonds
Now miscreants
Now misdeeds
And devilry
Now laughter
Now chaos
And discover
Who we are.
My view is distorted by lace and flowers
That have begun to wilt and burn
But the lace remains timelessly
Arched upon the bow
That keeps the clouds, so heavily
From my memory
And takes me back to a house I knew
Down Coppers Lane, remains.
I still smell the ancient windowsills
So beautifully exposed cedar wood
Grains like driftwood at the shore.
This pleasure reminds me
How much needed it is
To carry trinkets for the river.
Cold pangs of my inner heart
Have wildly swung amidst this wind
Clanging loudly against
Metallic edges of home
Where doors have been hung.
To aid my truth voice
In a song of no-mans-land,
I’ve wrapped my steel blades
In a leather sheath
To keep my quivering hand
From starting in a blur.
But pangs in message
– A lonesome call beyond forest’s wild –
Share what can never be drafted,
For a dove doth always take flight
Though eye’s embrace
Captures feverishly each beating wing
Against late mornings glow.
There doth echo
Memory once laid
And dreams yet played
For in a forgotten breath
A clang, a pang,
A caress of death
Deeply embraced
Amidst this inner heart.
(part XIV)
But there were still people
Who roamed outside of Safety.
They were the sinners
The witches
The vegabonds
The immoral
They were hunted
And killed upon sight
For it was Fearful
To look them in them in the eye.
They existed as people had existed
Long before Fear had set in
To the hearts of the Fearful.
They hunted for food
That ran wild in more quantity
They grew their own food
In the dirt that crawled
With worms and beetles
Maggots and flies.
They made friends with dogs
And sang to birds
But to be sure they were unsafe
For they were outside of Safety.
(part XVI)
Outside the walls
It was very unsafe.
Natural wild beasts roamed
Lurking just beyond vision
In the darkness
In the wildness
In the forests
That were unsafe.
Because most of the Fearful
Had moved to Safety
Much of what had existed
Outside the walls of Safety
Was given to ruin
Lost and forgotten
Like anything fearful
Should be done in safe times.
(part XV)
This cannot continue for too long
An ending shall develop
To which all will lapse from
And then reborn
Like Spring of an ancient rhythm
Moment in time
Reflecting on the sweet sound
Of a trickling creek
Joined by two trails
That are worn by wild game.
There were no more ways for the buffalo to roam
Fences stopped their grazing and wild land migration
Farmers began to cultivate their food with chemicals
And soon they became desired by man for their very skin
That kept them warm through the winter
Leaving the only thing they couldn’t be robbed of
Their soul, their wild and herd driven soul
Alone, rotting on the fields forever.
Running through the jungle softly
Footsteps over bare roots
Caught a glimpse of bright feathers
Flutter deep says the heart.
Spider webs and sticky vines
Leading through an ancient path
Wondering which local animals do use
Which beasts could one ever hope to see?
Wild pigs roam here, so vicious they
Could tear this fluttering heart so bare.
And staring up, far above,
Towards the canopy so green, so deep,
One faintly remembers where the sky
Once a hallmark of the stars
Looked like upon an open campfire
Many meters away
Upon great plains of Canada
Where the buffalo used to roam.
I want you to be here
So I can feel your breath
Shared with me.
I want you to be here
So I can feel you quiver
Against the cold.
When the moon rises
And lingers closely
There’s a space waiting
For you, my dear.
When I stop a moment
In the wildest forest
There’s a clearing
For you, my dear.