AstrologicalI have lost myself to
Venus & Mars,
tangled in their mismatched limbs.

Just dream dust & shattered prayers
begging for a new set of skin
(she can't remember where she orbits).

Pluck these fractured wings;
the Sun & Moon no longer ache
to see me fly in their luster.

lies, she wrotei. just a mimicry, really;
uncompromisingly
desperate to shine.

ii. counterfeit & clockwise,
tasting words on her
unworthy tongue.

iii. with a dysfunctional mind
& apocryphal dictionary,
she cannot clone it all.

iv. "say anything," the pen
whispers as she trembles
among ink-scented fraudulence.

v. but she just laughs & plays the part,
forgetting what the pages told her:
"truth is stranger than fiction."

Death of the PoetDear poetry,
This is your challenge,
my eternal chore,
to restate the truth
like never before-
but I’m imperfect
at my very core
and hypocrisy
is what I abhor
so you may expect
my work to be poor
enough for me to
be crushed into gore
with failed attempts
to take wing and soar
when all I wanted
was something much more
than emptiness and
inherited war
and pointless details
of imagined lore
which most of us tend
to simply ignore
at the piercing sound
of a lion’s roar
or the convenience
of a nearby store…
what am I truly
writing these words for?
Let’s merely pretend
that this isn’t me
but the voice of God
or L. Ron Hubbard
or whoever you
wish for it to be
since facts remain facts
no matter the source,
no matter the cause,
since the trustworthy
are also humans
prone to failure;
so prone to a fault
that we hold dearly-
the sum of our faith
measured in dollars-
rewarded by credit
and paper money…
for some odd reason
I find this funny!
So I conclude

False EternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.
Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!
Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for the moon
then sought the horizon, again and again warned my father that doom
would befall him if he didn't seek a better way to live and be
I wasn't willing to follow the dark and deadly rules,
trying to bring some light into the lives of these fools.
Guilds of anti-gods were formed, wars rose higher, nothing to atone!
They all represen

The Pen, The SwordJust lovely
I was happy to fall asleep
in the welcoming arms of your words and
you were unaware that you held me
so close, and so carefully
from the moment I didn't hear you speak
to the taste of every sentence you spoke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been seeking all along
Just barely
I was loathe to fall so deep
in the sharpened edges of your words and
you were too aware that you had me
so close, and so carelessly
from the second I heard you break
to the taste of every sentence you broke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been avoiding all along

ArrheniusThe birds are
keeping to themselves
this evening
as the earth shifts
slightly-
ever so calmly
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have
to move).

Here and there, I
witness these
beautiful strangers
with perfect bodies
and long hair
walking down the road
in tightly knitted packs.
They are animals
like we are animals-
like we are
animals without
claws and fur,
with scratches on our
skin that yields to
fragile and
familiar hands.

The winds respond
as quiet birds rush
from telephone wires
in panic and
in beauty; she
tries to brush the hair
dancing circles in her eyes
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have to move).

Chasing Butterflies

I believe in starry nights writing timeless songs
of all the yesterdays and tomorrows yet to come.

I believe in hearing the voice of love in rhyme;
I heard it as a child in my mother's lullabies.

Let's go down to the river now
and chase the butterflies.

I believe in playing, absorbing life's full sun,
dancing through the day until the night is done.

I believe in wishing wells never running dry,
granting us the time for a tender, slow goodbye.

Let's go down to the river now
and chase the butterflies.

Should I cross to the other side,
don't you worry; don't you cry.

There you'll see where tomorrow I'll be,
forever chasing butterflies...

False ProphetsPoems and love songs breed dead dreams,
strangled by weeds, face down in the ground
with no roses to mourn them.

Singers are poets that croon
(if you happen to lose your little heart to their tune)
and poets are false prophets -
true love will last forever
if they care to write it,
but not if you swallow the lines...

yet, they always do.

We all have a place
set for us in the shade
in our own private garden of weeds.

Evolution of life

child, we dream
teenager, we have ideas
adult, we have a bar code encrusted in the nape

we evolve to finish in the matrix

False eternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant of the fact that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.

Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!

Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for

VoicesDo you hear the moan of morning rhymes
By the people in their endless time
As the morning dew breaks the day
Back to where the city-lights once laid

The lamp-posts are filled with black starlight
As the children run in their flight
With cries of sorrow, cries of pain
The old houses creaking with disdain

Acidic puddles of blood-wet tears
Remain on the street through all these years
As the cracks have hid the crumbled dust
Within these roads of bone and rust

The melody of the birds is lost
To the screeches and screaming loss
There are people cowering in the dark
Murmuring, whispering their tortured remarks

Flames ignite the world in fire

On The Collapse Of Modern Society"I've never seen so many folks
putting their hopes
in packaged air,
as far as I'm concerned,
and from what I've observed
misplacing material worth while
rushing back and forth
to get nowhere."
my Grandma said,
shaking her head.

Within A BoxIt's a prison for the minds of haunted souls
an odd prison, not large enough to contain its prisoners
and yet it encompasses every fiber of their being
in silent, silent spaces.
Haunted souls are searching for the key
there is no key, but they don't know any better
and what harm could it do? Hope is better than nothing
here's an unlocked open door for you.
Little trinkets haunt souls with their questions
and we want answers, but they won't give
anything away. Very smart,
you know the world is ending soon.
(The best of which are only
crude descriptions of the magic
they are looking for.)

HumanDear Hypocrite,

What do you do?
Throwing insults when you're insulted.

Dear Coward,

Where went you?
To your "peaceful" sanctuary you have bolted.

Dear Liar,

What say you?
Your poison corrupts innocent ears.

Dear Human,

What are you?
A sinner trapped in endless tears.

Lovers and assassinsNight
walk

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NightwatchSee how the rain falls
Illuminated by the stars
The moon flits in and out
Of charcoal clouds
And you sleep sound
Within your sheets
I cannot feel the sweet caress
Morpheus vexes and evades me
His spell will not be cast
I must watch the fire burn low
Contemplate the ticking of the clock
The minutes pass and fall away
Into the soon dim land of the past
As dew forms on the mulberry bush
Only embers form shadows upon you
Popping and sparking
Fragile ash mirrors the rain
The rug will need swept
When morning comes…

ContemplationA scant illumination
Traces the line of history
Across the eternal here to there
I hear the voices of a distant age
As I tread the paths of ancient days
The temples of neglected gods
Condemned to sit idle
The worshipful long gone
Nothing sacred any more
Within marble halls
Headless idols in silent rooms
Relics of a once living past
None left to revere
Nor lay the altars
The sweeping hand of time
Cast clouds upon the old ways
Now we stand and stare
Yet do not comprehend
The minds of those
Long fallen away
From the sight of all.

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I Have Never Wanted More

by ~mercurius11, Jun 8, 2007, 2:59:46 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

To seek an end to time itself
That such a moment as this
Could be forever frozen
The leaf fall stilled
In midair freefall
Early frosts bade to spare
The bounty heavy laden
Fixed upon the apple trees
As seasons turn and turn again

Yet there is to be no cessation
Of the trickling stream of sand
Flowing forward endlessly
Taking all that I have ever known
Reshaping and unstitching
Every dream I ever had
Each fragment passing beyond my reach
A realisation that this too shall pass
But nothing could inspire me more

For until the earth stops
Whirling around our flaming sun
In an ever expanding universe
My passion and fervour for truth
Keeps my focus on the day
And when a veil is drawn
Upon the stage of life
With a firm willed smiling end
This film will fade to close.

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I Have Never Wanted Moreby ~mercurius11

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~0-Carrion-0 Jun 12, 2007 Writer

...

to keep in theme with your ending line: showstopping.
Bravo!!

I'd love to hear you read this stuff aloud. I bet it's as magic to the ear as it already is to the soul.

~mercurius11 Jun 14, 2007 Hobbyist General Artist

I am so very Middle English you might end up covering your ears LOL

I sound like I should work for the BBC...!

~0-Carrion-0 Jun 15, 2007 Writer

Tsk, that's perfect.
Y'know, I grew up on Dr. Who, Monty Python, Alo Alo, Mr. Bean... and the like. I now officially wish I was a dashing Patrick McGoohan trying to escape a place called the Village while not giving up any information regarding my resignation.

Yes. I'm sure I'm trying to say I have a thing for the accent.
And now I've said too much.

~mercurius11 Jun 15, 2007 Hobbyist General Artist

Ah, the accent! I am really too English for words, best you just give up trying to escape now really

You are a number, after all...

~0-Carrion-0 Jun 16, 2007 Writer

I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed, or numbered.
My Life Is My Own!

~mercurius11 Jun 21, 2007 Hobbyist General Artist

Oh, come now, you know I own you. Why, i've got your DNA sequence right here on my pc...

~0-Carrion-0 Jun 22, 2007 Writer

lmfao....!!!!

It's funny, really... to come across a comment like this---especially after having forgotten what I'd said previously.

...and of course this ruins any chance of me responding back further in narrative.
Grawr! This round goes to you.

~mercurius11 Jun 24, 2007 Hobbyist General Artist

~abuseofreason Jun 12, 2007 Professional Digital Artist

absolutely incredible. I don't know what else to say.

~mercurius11 Jun 14, 2007 Hobbyist General Artist

Wow, thank you so much!

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