April 11: Statement poem

Watch the Kingmaker's swindle; Surrender


Watch the Kingmaker's swindle

Dreams are the luxurious silk we are told we cannot afford,
and truth a commodity only sold to the weak, for allegiance,
the Kingmaker promises relief, for obedience,
there is a promise of riches and sweet, coveted peace – but
there is also war for the dark thirst in our souls,
an enemy to distract us, and his quickest path to control;
when rivers and mountains are no longer untouchable,
they are relics of being connected to our Earth, monuments of
obsolete respect: there is no need, the Kingmaker says
for the feelings of belonging in the universe; he will tell us
what to feel, and give the direction – there is always
something or someone to hate, and we murmur with diligence—
for the Kingmaker has spoken, and he has said
that now the impossible is at our fingertips: food, shelter,
righteous reign and revenge, the lines of ally and enemy
a blurred statement in bold midnight against a black parchment:
invisible to the sons and daughters of all lands, though
we are means to a simple end: the Kingmaker’s reign is
intricate and sweet, but for the countless tiny cuts from
which we bleed – it was necessary, so we are told,
and both the bold and the wise are quelled not by the man
himself – but by his believers, his people,
his sons and daughters so obedient, so meek—
and the blame is never given to any other than those
unlucky fools who lack excuses, even while the rope tightens
and we dizzily fall to our knees—
but is it the executioner who should burn in our rage,
and not the man before whom we incidentally kneel? and pleas
are heard by the Kingmaker always, now wise counselor
to the king himself, and he whispers and tugs our strings—
we are absolved, and grateful to him; yet some question,
in secret whispers to be sure, who the Kingmaker is,
and what he is for, in a land where the people have a voice:
but no one discovers the truth of his identity,
for he is scattered across the four corners of the Earth—
the Kingmaker is the desire for more, when one or many
dominate, he is the jealous lust we all feel
for things just out of reach, he is the burden of command
when the will to push against it cracks—
he has our backs, and raises us through guile and smiles,
but he only has power through our own blind desires…
and to that, there is no end: as long as there is something
to take, someone to hate and betray,
the Kingmaker reigns… and no one catches his swindle,
for all our futile hunting and games of doling out blame…


April 11, 2014

Back to Top


There is something lurking behind your eyes,
so distant and inviting:
masked, unopposed—
a kindling that awakens with hunger,
…yet so entwined with suffering…
there is something in your words, your voice
is ice and your tongue is sharp, but there,
just for a flicker, there is a tremor:
stark desire, iron control—

Your eyes say nothing, yet whisper so much, your
words are cold, but crack with the heat of thought;
…the ruins stretch tall and silent around you,
and the moonlight drinks your features, leaving that
stony expression swimming in the shadows of all
that is left unsaid…

There is something in your hand when it reaches,
it begins to take, but ends up holding:
strength riddled with shivers, unyielding—
a betrayal of feelings perhaps better left unsaid, yet
so very much involuntarily escaping…
there is something in your footsteps,
echoing into the distance, yet never fading:
a heartbeat voiced, quickened, though not by choice—

Your hands tried to steal my heart without giving yours,
but tangles into my grasp, your footsteps falling without
withdrawal, stepping closer, whatever your intentions;
…I saw the ice break in your eyes, heard the honesty
ripped from your voice, took your trembling hands and
pulled you close:

…because I know you fight it fiercely,
but such love is hard to resist;
I may not be the love you dreamed before me,
but now I am here, and your answer is
the tremble of your lips on mine as resistance gives, and
so I ask what you have begged me not to, because
I cannot turn away from how I feel:
surrender to my arms, and let the wounds heal…


April 11, 2014

Back to Top