April 25: 'The last straw'

Nets; Freedom; Irreverent; Precious gem



Nets – such a pleasant contemplation,
the nets to snare droplets of satisfaction—
I heard it’ll be a fantastic day,
so I started it with a skip and a smile,
weaving nets that catch light and spin
merry tales to entertain… but I kept
checking, the nets were still empty—
nothing to prevent me from trying, though;
this caliber requires a special midnight silk,
a thread woven of ubiquity, and swirls
of unique twinklings – I was checking,
thinking that perhaps now the pieces
would fall out to form an encouraging sign—
I danced away time, biting lips and
trying not to hex my luck with negativity:
but my nets were still depressingly empty; I am
trying for nonchalance, my nets
casual spreads that melt inextricably, but
not unpleasantly… yet, I caught exactly nothing—
perhaps I wove wrong, perhaps it was
the placement, but I still kept trying…
this morning my hunger would not be ignored,
a knot in my stomach that said I need
nourishment of the kind not easily found, so
my fingers were feverish in the making;
blatant, straight lines, stark backdrops and
ideas that made my head spin giddily—
not even that caught anything for me, though,
and despair began to slowly crawl along my mind;
by the eve, I admit that I am quite desperate,
but still willing to weave – if only it was with
a purpose, if only it had a chance, and then—
just like that, something snapped inside me:
I’ve stopped caring, and it’s freed my heart
to soar across boundaries, soar right
in the face of expectations and laugh in it—
maybe hunger has tangled my mind to madness,
but what else can I do? my nets were so empty,
and I am in need of something to replenish
the energy I’ve wasted in the weaving, so
I implore, I beg, I’ve abandoned dignity:
just please, gods, fill those nets for me…


April 25, 2014

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Rhythms intoxicating, ancient rite renewed, fervor painting
a haze to weave through souls connected between worlds,
fumes elaborating on thoughts till they become grandiose:
I will build a shining palace, with leopards as my guards,
fountains that spill wine and I will have endless balls, I
will make these halls the foundation, the heart—
but my councilor said to me, that
pretty words are a poor substitute for elegance,
and my irreverent dances will incur consequences—
I ignored the foolish man with his prattling, suggested
that he enjoy my dancing while he can – I know his eyes
drink me as any man’s must, though he is barred from touch;
rhythm is a carnal heartbeat dipped into primordial nectar,
resurrection of patterns that have not been done under
the sun and stars in time immemorial, and my mind is slipping
into imagination manifested: I am a lady of the great hunt,
fast on the trail of majestic prey:
tonight I feast on the flesh of existence, and breathe life
into my designs, the entire world on its knees, adoring—
and that old fool interrupts again, admonishing
that what I’ve done will bring the wrath of the gods,
and that touching the nether for frivolous wants, for
no better reason than because it ensnares my mind has
already doomed me, whatever I see before me—
I shake him off, and send him away in chains,
this is my dance and nothing can sour the mood of this place:
temple unearthed and woven in threads of spirit, my fingers
over a pool of souls touches the surface to finish what I started,
…and I become more than what I am, shivers of knowing
cascading into me, vibrations of ecstasy that threaten
to shred me, and I am a lady of the ether:
immortal between shades of existence—
power unlimited, desires almost fully sated, I
am the embodiment of light and darkness…

I feel it, just before it pierces into my mind like a splinter,
a haunting echo, a burden to balance the succor, a painful
lack that displaced a part of me just out of reach, with a frantic
need to reach it, but strapped into place by shackles of fire, I am
burning, I am consumed and know I can never die—
and my scream is mocked by the silence of the empty chamber,
where once only whispers reigned, I am utterly alone in this place;
and I keep asking through my tears: what have I done,
what have I done…
I have become something less than human, and
belated respect for powers beyond me swells bitter, so,
hands trembling, I try to retreat – but can’t lose that echo, a feel
of vast emptiness lodged inside: my heart is splintered into
shards with cutting edges, loves and hopes fading to mist
leaving only the power of cold death – my hand is a weaver of fate,
but now my eyes see more than they should: I see the inevitable,
and what reason is there to continue, knowing? I see
the irreversible, and what demand is worth that price? I summon
my councilor, but I learn that he has already come to me
in that twisted nether place in which I danced, executed
by orders I do not remember giving—
I am a lady of nothingness, with the power of unmaking,
forever locked in my task of taking, but only
where the pattern chooses: I have almost nothing,
but what I have is the capacity for giving endless suffering—
and give it I must, for if I do not,
all of creation will unravel to forgotten dust…


April 25, 2014

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Freedom’s price we paid in blood and hope, we sought change
and took it – we created a vacuum first, then filled it with
new thoughts that gave us what we truly want: but the new voices
screaming allegiance had the same effect: they were painted
the right colors, so we followed, but still we were never given
a true choice: we bled for freedom – and got a dream instead.

Freedom’s taste was the essence of imitations, images torn from
books that belonged to someone else – we desired wealth, and were
given work to achieve it, but the streets are woven of honey strings,
leading us pacifically to return to gilded cages; I saw the traps in them
and what they offered – they weren’t given, so I just took them:
freedom was mine, and now there is retribution for my actions.

Freedom’s scent was stamped all over our gifts, we were promised
that the charade would end someday: impossible demands were met
with bending the rules where it suited – and we were punished for it;
there was once an untainted ideal that roamed around in our hearts,
and now freedom is the enemy we must conquer: if we want it,
we will be brought to justice – and they said no one has to suffer.

Freedom’s truth was a parade with drums and roses thrown, thousands
screaming defiance, though who or what we defied was unknown—
we were free, but there were rules to follow, and people to report, if we
want more than the least we need, there has to be unity: so those high
voices spoke – and so freedom was betrayal, when our last tense patience
was snapped: I wanted freedom, so I simply got up and left.

Freedom is the tears of sacrifice, families torn away, freedom is allegiance
to a fickle fancy that dies withering in homes where we cannot stay: where
freedom is to escape the murderous monster we created with good intent,
where freedom is the first penny spent on shiny things we are blinded by:
that freedom is a lie we tell to soothe the chains we wrap around ourselves—
in the name of freedom so fair: our freedom is forever the cause of despair.


April 25, 2014

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Precious gem

I came to claim acceptance in the dark caves lore forsook,
hunting that elusive pixie that dithers over all my friends
they’re attracted to smiles, I think – but every crop needs
a seed to begin – and I came here with a purse empty of
that currency; all I had was a single gem dear to me.

Nearer the deeper levels, a gatekeeper greeted me with
a grimace on his weathered face – he was mortal, I saw,
and no doubt attached to the sprite who fluttered nearby;
but to enter, what he asked was a pittance – and much
dearer than a willingness to comply.

Meandering sightlessly, my well of strength dried up, so after
a time, I returned with shoulders slumped to give the wretched
man my gem: the only light of truth I harvested, my creation,
child of my heart and mind: he took it and gave in return an
insolent grin – but finally, I was ushered inside.

What I saw there was a magnificent chamber filled with
dancing laughter that painted lights across the ceiling,
my head was reeling from all the motion and joyousness,
something unfamiliar and alluring – and a pixie came to me,
to ask what I would have: I told her – but she just laughed.

Smoldering in my hurt, I schooled my face to stillness,
inquired politely if acceptance would be mine – and that
obnoxious pixie sprinkled dust over me, and said, now
that is what I have: she accepts what I give, and I should be
satisfied – I left indignant, hiding that I was cut open inside.

Time passed with an agonizing slowness on the surface,
where I smiled as brazenly as any – no pixies came, though,
no, they would not return smiles garnered from me, so I
seethed and planned that I would return – and so, I began
another expedition: arriving with gems that meant nothing.

Past the gates, I said that I found this a lackluster recompense,
the dust of acceptance that meant nothing to any but myself,
and told the pixie that if she closed that door instead of making
amends – that will be the straw that broke the camel’s back,
and I said that she could expect a delicious revenge.

A shadow stilled her smiles, a silence shrouded us both and
finally she seemed to realize that what I’d asked was more:
something deeper than a whim, sharp need unanswered, but to my
surprise, a fire lit in her eyes and she gestured towards the sky—
where, to my shock, my gem glittered, bathing all in light…


April 25, 2014

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