Built Into a World

I've  been given visions
by the moon
and courage by the rain
direction from the wind
and support from the earth
rage from the lightning
and shelter from the trees

they tell me to love her
or rather
that I will
tis fate
destiny
pre-ordained

I rebel,
for while loyal to my lover
the moon has no direct control

I rebel
for I feel my humanity
drawing to a close

I was raised a man
not an avatar to some bizarre ideal
to some essence of the forest
heart of the storm

but raised or no,
I became

born into a human shell,
an outcaste in my skin

Silence
is such a human ambition

Find me in the Silence

God gave me no silence

I look to
the wind
the fire
the tree
earth
animal
storm
moon

I was born
created
by him
as a link
between human ideals
human connections
and the wrong path

I was created differently
wrongly
corrupted
tainted
by our loving God

for a reason

he forced upon me
the uneven footing,
the cracked path
the unsure way,

and I graciously accepted

born for the role.

I kneel before him
beside you
amongst the world
the material existence
the Creation

I kneel a tempest
of fire and fury
rain and laughter
lightning and instinct
animal and man;
my lover Moon
at my side
before he who has built me
into a world

-mine

Heart of the Tempest

Why are the mortals so demanding?

Why do they cry for blood spilled in the heart of a tempest?

A storm has no blood to spill,
just the force to spill it.

But a mortal with the heart of a tempest,
that is a different beast altogether.

They cannot understand the mortal weakness;
cannot empathize with it.

They do cry for it;
cry for the blood swirling through the depths
many decades;
cry for the blood spillt by their own hand.

They cannot help but to slosh the lifeblood
of their kin and themselves.

A tempest must swirl,
and one's heart is no exception.

-mine

Darkness

staring into the dark
only to have your own eyes
stare back
in a way that should be
but a reflection
and realizing that
you alone
are not quite as dead
as even you had imagined

staring into the dark
only to have your own eyes
stare back
in a way that should not be
a shadow
composed of moonlight
but rather
a shadow cast by the same

windows to the soul
they say
doorways to the heavens
more likely
or the hells
assuming that
primal means evil
and soul means damned spirit

I stare into that darkness every night
and I daresay
the reflection cast
is not always shadows
dancing to the tune of a moonlit sonata,
but more often a howl
prowling to the whims of a beast.

-mine

Night Time

grasping at straws
pulling myself towards
some sort of end
always reaching for something,
anything that bends
writhing in secrecy;
shadows in my head

looking at the only
sliver of silver
lining

crying tears of blood
from fingertips
staining my fears



-mine

Bite Down

bite down and tell me,
please just tell me
that my blood seeps down;
please just tell me
that the blood is red
because it feels like putty
slowly sagging out of my veins

bite down and tell me,
please just tell me
that something's in there;
please just tell me
that it's dribbling down your chin
because all I see are shadows
creeping up from your open mouth

a void,
infested with the black strings of my veins,
creeping, crawling into your now
black,
vacant,
eyes

bite down and tell me
that your after my blood,
that you need my blood;
my essence;
my being;
need it,
need to taste it

bite down and leave the shadow alone,
before it infects you,
as it always has me


-mine

Just a head's up to the "masses" following this...

I don't write the poetry for others.
I don't write the poetry for fun.
When it happens, it happens.
It hasn't.
As long as this monotonous phase in my existence continues,
the poetry won't.
No inspiration
No poetry
One pent up irritated person.
Just as irritated with myself for not writing
as I am at not having anything worth writing about.
So...there. Done.

Trademark Glow

She's lost her trademark glow;
I'm not the only one to notice,
and with her extinguished
under the soggy soil of
ambiguous animosity,
the roads darken to tar.

She was the last lantern,
the last streetlight
carving a path through the darkness
and without her trademark glow,
I develop night blindness
and a fear of dark trails.

Lost in the woods,
and if that foreshadow's not enough,
fighting under a full moon.

When was the last time I ran?
I cannot remember,
it seems to have been an eternity
since last I've slipped my skin.

To run,
to chase,
a light shone through always,
a target,
a telltale glow,

The darkness brings a strange comfort,
I hear the voice of a familiar friend.
Without light there is no reason,
no constraint,
only chaos,
and those who would take advantage thereof.

I feel the night,
heed the call...

run free under a full moon,

because there is no telltale glow to follow.

-mine

Crying for a Stillness

awaiting the executioner's blade
with a relish not often found
outside of a wolf hungering
for a fresh killed rabbit,

staying awake long enough
to see the stars transpose themselves
to the hallays and the doors,

bending to accomodate
the evacuation of bone
and of sinew,
squirming in their own
unrehearsed dance,

bowing down before time,
waiting for exposure
to an ending,

crying for a stillness.

Fire consumes skin,
that's all it's ever been good for.
It rushes down limbs
igniting flesh,
charring bone.

Spread it around.



-mine

Just Enough

You may understand,
you may comprehend,
you may even have
the slightest sense of empathy.

It changes nothing.

Until you hear your bones
scream that they want out
of your tight skin wrapped box
you do not talk of pain.

Come and free me,
come and bite our legacy
into my flesh
so that it may carve out
a new being of my body;
a new form of my soul.

When they run free they will have peace.
When they engorge themselves on passion
they will be home.

When I am no longer the enemy,
when my own skeleton is no longer a cage,
then shall I find bliss.

Never before.

If only I could not smell the distance between us.
If only my hackels would stay slicked back
when my thoughts turn to you.
If only my spine would stay still around you,
instead of arching in a blind panic.

But my bones remain a prison,
and only one of my kind has a key.

Find me my brothers,
Find me my sisters,
Find me my pachmates
lost in the sea of the world,
and open my marrow cell.

Find me, so I may change,

just enough to stay the same.


-mine

Shedding Like a Dog

she'll be someone's light
and here I sit
shedding like a dog
panting away
my heartless moments

-mine

The Gift

you can feel it can't you?
they can,
they always have.
it was born in you the second
you graced the Earth.
it's a gift,
no doubt;
one wrapped in bone and flesh.
you have to tear through it,
you see,
to get the prize;
to claim your birthright.
you can feel it now
mind ripping of the skin
and prodding at tense muscle.

it never stops.

you'll always feel the gift.

-mine

Fire in the Sky

Fire in the sky,
you'd think I'd be talking of the sun.

I watched the boy die.
My lady done it;
I know that
better than most.
Aint got a complaint though,
nobody whines about my woman.
She does her thing;
reaps them hearts
like the sickle she is.

She turns them hearts into rivers.
Heard him screaming this time.
Blood pumping out,
right through the hole in the side there.
Flows mighty far.

Fire in the sky,
you'd think I'd be talking of the sun.

Yeah, my girl's got herself a temper.
Must be why I love her so much;
couldn't stand me a woman
that just stand there letting things go.
No I reckon I prefer myself a girl
that'll smack me good 'f I deserve it.
Wild eyes always get me.

Fire in the sky,
you'd think I'd be talking of the sun.

But I aint.
No sir, I talk about heart,
I talk about love before speaking of
stars and whatnot.
Sun's just a cosmic spark,
but my girl here,
she's my true light.
Can't see well without her,
no, lordy no,
not after she give me them new eyes.

Sickle shaped eyes.

Fire in the sky,
you'd think I'd be talking of the sun.

Form fits function,
and my eyes
reflect her fury,
and her fire,
and her form.

Sickle shaped eyes.

Don't worry babe,
I always follow my heart first.

Fire in the sky,
you'll wish I was talking of the sun.

-mine

chewing off skin
like it meant anything
to anyone at all
and spitting it out onto the lawn
hoping perhaps this time
it will sprout,
leaving little people pods in its wake

A Name Like This

blood will be spilled as surely
through the knife digging at my heart
as it was to inscribe the name
onto the hilt, and onto my hide

the name you can't read
echoes off my chest
and spirals onto my arms
carving its path
as confidently a cleaver

the name forgotten by all but us few

you cannot read it
you cannot see it
you cannot feel it

surely as we can feel it;
felt it run through our souls
felt it skewer our minds,

a name like this,
penned only in blood
uttered only in fire

a name like this,
hollow as a mountain
powerful as emotion

cannot be chained to rationality

you cannot read it
you cannot see it
you cannot feel it

the name forgotten by all but us few


-mine

Legacy Awakens

they writhe under my skin
like worms in the muck
after a rainstorm,
squirming to get out onto the sidewalk

burrowing down from my brain
they've taken my bones;
want new bones,
stronger ones

hands in my back
pushing,
always pushing
waiting for the day
I sprout wings

six wings,
three pairs,
one for each;
laying claim
to my skeleton
and what it is to become

not long now
before muscle follows bone
and skin follows sinew
a year or two, tops
before legacy awakens
and a man can sprout wings
from the hands in his back

-mine

Willow tree take me
out of the rain
lower your branches
free me from pain

Isolate yourself
serve only the dark

Closer than sunlight
outside the eclipse
make hast with the battlements
incorporate the spear
nursing the wounded
groaning in fear

Wolf Is Coming

-mine

Mist Svanhvit

I miss it.
I miss you.
But I never knew,
did I?

Never knew your soft feathers.
They tell me you're not real,
and I can see why they'd think it;
nature hides itself well after all.
I never knew you're blonde hair,
marble skin,
blue eyes.

Your eyes were the Mist
and your skin was Svanhvit
white as the swan wings
that graced your back.

The Valkyrie spear...
I remember the tales;
thrust through the temple
piercing the damned.
The blood gushed and splattered
but never stained,
never stained anything
but your clothes and your cane;
blemishing the dreamcatcher
dangling to the side.

Your wings remained Svanhvit always.

As you lay in the star,
having gone to far to save a friend,
heartsblood spilling into the grooves
carved into the floor,
your own spear
erect in your chest,
I lay crying, alone once more.

Why did you try to save the dead?
Why didn't you run from the gunshots?
Why did you allow
for your wings to be tarnished?

The floor was not meant for a goddess.
The star was not meant for a swan.

Your flock overtook my river
when my grandmother died,
and again when my best friend
met the same fate.
My uncle as well,
and even my cockatiel, Hedwig,
never again to sing me songs.

Your flock was a sign of your love for me.
They were your pencil, the river your ink;
surely as I created the Svanhvit from carbon,
your love was written with only an ink well,
and a Svanhvit feather.

-Mine

Tightrope Act

we are born two halves of one whole,
one with blue eyes
and the tools of man,
the other with yellow
hiding in the grass

some of us lost this balance long ago,
fell over one side of the line
we've been walking,
waiting now to see what that means

most who drop this tightrope act
end up with clockwork hearts,
but we the few remember the beast

it isn't easy,
biding one's time
disguised as mechanized kinfolk,
knowing someday
a lover might peel back your
stolen colored contacts

knowing love need be pumped,
wasting oil all the way

I beg you, someone
drink of my heartsblood,
stare into the eyes of a beast
and remember the forest --
something even a mechanical monkey
like yourself should recall with favor

peel back my skin
and wait for the laughter;
peel back my eyes
and find them within

-mine

To those wishing to navigate the chaos of all my recent posting.

This is mostly geared towards Ann. The revised copy of the final paper is actually under the rough draft as you may well have noticed. You may have also noticed that it's much better, and while a little short, really gets the point across. My goodness, I hope you noticed this or pppthhthbbbtttt! there goes the grade. Either way to all of you I just want to say, "HA! I LOOKED UP WHAT WE NEEDED TO POST AND ACCOUNTED FOR EVERYTHING!!! HAHAHAHAHA!!!"

P.S. If I actually did miss something, don't tell me, just shoot me.