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