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written
for
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Web Mistress
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You can also
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THE GODS OF ILLUSION
Let
go of the gods of illusion,
Aggression and passion and pride;
Let go of the gods of delusion,
The anger and pity denied;
Let go of the gods of perception,
Seeing and feeling and thought;
Let go of the gods of deception,
And count them well lost and worth naught.
See
the gods of illusion dissolve
Into guilt and suspicion and hate;
See the gods of delusion evolve
Around pain and possession and fate;
See the gods of perception resolve
To be balanced and selfless and clear;
See the gods of deception devolve
Their power and protection and fear.
For
the gods of illusion believe
That we all have the right to be free;
And the gods of delusion relieve
The responses between you and me;
While the gods of perception achieve
False vision seen veiled in a dream;
But the gods of deception deceive,
’Til we’re trapped in the game and the scheme.
SILENT RUNNING
You
think you’re running silent
So I can’t hear your heart,
That beating rhythm violent,
But where did sorrow start?
Your
footsteps softly pounding
Along the road you tread,
With words that are still sounding,
Locked deep within your head.
Silent
running, blinded eyes,
From fear of love you fly;
You’re deafened by the lies,
And your mind won’t question why.
So
run silent from the hate,
Your self-inflicted pain,
The love that came too late,
For I will not take your blame.
I
know you’re running silent,
And hiding from the night;
Your passions cruel and bent
Now shattered by the light.
Silent
running, spirit hollow,
You still have time to grow,
Catch the dream you follow,
Run on in silence, then let go.
DREGS FROM A BOTTLE
The
answer isn't in a bottle,
But it dulls the pain you see,
Splits emotion from the feeling,
Now you don’t have need of me.
So
they kept the whisky flowing,
While I danced and laughed and span;
Only inside I was screaming,
But I could and should and can.
Then
they said it didn't matter,
Just as long as I had fun,
That the pain and hurt inside me
Was just one more race to run.
You
didn’t smile, they said,
When you whirled across the floor;
But I didn’t care who saw me,
And let them buy me more.
So
I drank it for the freedom
Of a self-deluded high;
Pretended I was flying,
While I watched my spirit die.
But
they poured me full of coffee,
And made me face the pain,
Tore mind and soul asunder,
’Til they thought that I was sane.
I
said, not ’till the next time
Will you see my fear and stress,
Then I’ll hide it in a bottle,
And not drink to such excess.
DID HE TELL YOU?
Did
he tell you that he loved you,
Did he tell you that he cared,
Did he tell you what he wanted,
That he was running scared?
Did
he say you were his lady,
Did he say you were his life,
Did he say you were forever,
Then did he turn the knife?
Did
he tell you he was lonely,
Did he tell you he was free,
Did he tell you he would love you,
That he’d forgotten me?
Could
it be that he was lying,
Did you think he spoke the truth?
But you don’t know him like I do,
Or that I hold the proof.
Well
I really tried to warn you,
And I thought you’d understood;
No, I can’t pick up the pieces,
I can’t say he’s no good.
I’ve
known all his wild emotions,
Seen the warmth within his eyes,
I have read the words he’s written,
The reasons for his lies.
But
you cannot know what drives him,
Or the child within his soul;
He will always love and leave you,
For that’s his only goal.
Did
he say it didn't matter,
Did he even speak at all;
Then did he make you his excuse,
The reason for his fall?
Did
he tell you you were guilty,
Did he say, “It’s not my fault”?
And yes, I’ve been there before you,
But I have called a halt.
Did
he tell you he was frightened,
Did he tell you of his tears,
Did he tell you if you held him,
You’d wipe away his fears?
Did
he tell you he was sorry,
Did he tell you it’s a game,
Did he tell you he was wining,
And that he wasn't sane?
Did
he say that if you loved him,
He could face another day,
Did he say that if you left him,
He’d have to make you pay?
So
don’t sorrow for his leaving,
As he can’t help how he feels;
It’s just his closed defences,
His own tomorrow steals.
KEEPERS OF TOMORROW
If
I’d only had the chance
Just to say good-bye to you,
The keepers of tomorrow
Would allow the sorrow through.
But
entangled in the dream
I’m the victim of your crime,
Where love and hate and anger
Now remain outside their time.
The
keepers of tomorrow
Show perceptual defence,
And all the interactions
Must be sifted for their sense.
Shade
of the pagan goddess
Can still set the mind alight,
But Pandora’s box is open
With hope yet chained to the night.
Cassandra,
prophet of doom,
Evil omens un-believed,
The keepers of tomorrow
Now know they’ve been deceived.
So
we must go on seeking
For a way to find the truth,
And keep the balance even
’Til evidence becomes proof.
The
keepers of tomorrow
Were both yours and mine to share,
But guilty accusation
Is the all that you can dare.
I WISH YOU
I
wish you joy and peace,
I wish you love and life,
I wish you truth and justice,
I wish you no more strife.
I
wish you wealth and health,
I wish you happiness,
I wish you sun and moon,
I wish you gentleness.
I
wish you years and beauty,
I wish you stars and sky,
I wish you Libran balance,
I wish you never cry.
I
wish you tender hands,
I wish you inspiration,
I wish you caring words,
I wish you consolation.
I
wish you safe, secure,
I wish you constancy,
I wish you hope and dreams,
Through all eternity.
THE CHOICE
The
choice was mine, you implied,
To follow where you led;
But you didn't say you lied,
Or that your heart was dead.
The
coincidence of time,
The reasons why we met,
That lay locked inside the mine,
Have not unravelled yet.
The
choice was yours, to believe,
To make your dream come true;
But you did not perceive
The truths that we both knew.
In
endless conflagration,
Your accusations cast,
And words of mitigation
Cannot redeem the past.
An
apology, as before,
Is all that I have left;
Until your soul restores
Your psyche from its theft.
TRUTH
Visions
of truth and silence
Spiral the clouded stairs;
Vagabonds and minstrels
Sift belief from the prayers.
The
dream-weavers dusty myths
Wake again into the light;
And the age of fact and reasons
Retreats back into the night.
Threads
of flying colours
Oscillate through time,
And words of self-destruction
Dissolve in endless rhyme.
Metaphysical
intuition
Rules a philosophy fey,
And theoretical guilt
Must await another day.
Fire,
air, earth and water
Keep still the wheel that spins;
But coincidental retribution
Is the price for all our sins.
With
truth and love and honour
We all must play our part;
For each of us must learn
To reach inside the heart.
From
dream-filled inspiration
The truth will oft awake;
As above, so below,
Are the choices we must make.
The
chronology of distance,
The tide of ebb and flow,
The patience and illusion,
All creative truths we know.
Among
flickering constellations
Take the Universal path,
And let your essence listen
To hear the Shaman’s laugh.
A CRUCIBLE OF PAIN
From
a crucible of pain,
Twisted, withered and lame;
A lifetime of abstentions
To conform amongst conventions.
The
soul’s colour will reveal
The what and how to heal;
Bringing truth from desolation,
Singing constant confirmation.
From
a crucible of pain
Only ashes now remain;
Where years of contravention
Wills disbelief into suspension.
The
spirit lights shine out,
Free of grief and hate and doubt;
With the skeins of revelation
Comes a mystic inspiration.
From
a crucible of pain,
The moon now waxed will wane;
And into a new dimension
Flows a self-renewed intention.
PERFECTION
The
seekers of perfection
Came forth into the light,
With words of self-protection,
And veiled, blinded sight.
From
a stagnant, putrid pool
They strike out for the shore,
The jester, clown and fool,
With darkness at their core.
In
streams of hesitation,
Searching for the flow,
From peripheral creation,
And nothing left to know.
Listen
to the silence,
Speak the healing word,
Meet them not with violence
Lest they become immured.
Show
them paths of vision,
Allow them just to be,
With a loving true precision
Set their spirits free.
In
a gentle luminescence
Shine the rays of self-election
To re-align your presence
For a new and right perfection.
THE PHOTO
Perception
perceived from a photo
Takes procrastination out of time,
With the how and the why and wherefore
Sent spinning and dissolving in rhyme.
Now
eyes wide open look all around,
But the smile on the face has grown cold,
Then into the mists of this daydream
Floats benevolent theory, age-old.
For
each photo has its own story,
And perception is only a word;
Procrastination tells its own tale,
Among the voices yet to be heard.
Caught
in the spell of its destiny,
Woven through silver shot into day,
Made both out of love and damnation,
It’s the price that the mystic must pay.
NOTHING
Nothing
comes from nothing,
Nothing’s ever free,
Nothing out of time,
Nothing left to be.
Nothing
comes from nowhere,
Nothing left to choose,
Nothing in existence,
Nothing left to lose.
Nothing
equals zero,
Zero equals zilch,
Time and space and reason,
Nothing left to filch.
Nothing
for tomorrow,
Nothing for today,
Nothing from the past,
Nothing left to pay.
FORMER LIVES
Out
of many former lives
Springs new interpretation,
Where both soul and spirit strives
Towards new liberation.
Looms
woven out in the sands,
Formed of life and love and death,
Eroded by neutral hands,
Scattered in only a breath.
Oblique
triumph can’t defend
Shadows of wrath and treason,
Where only rhyme should transcend
Words of belief and reason.
State
of altered compliance,
Stones of thought without worth,
Take on the new alliance
Created from gems of earth.
Fly
then on wings of vision,
Reach out for dreams yet to be,
Kaleidoscopic prism,
Psyche and mind set free.
While
wisdom rides in the storm,
And judgment veils her face,
The new lives yet to be born
Can never sustain the race.
Interpretation
must die,
Lost in the balance of time,
Where poets and minstrels lie,
Waiting for parts in the mime.
URCHINS
Through
the doors of apathy
Love’s inconsistency shines,
And constant approbation
In limitless mirth declines.
The
urchins of the morning,
Their ragged speeches veiled,
Go forth into the shadows
Where stronger hearts have quailed.
And
hostile definition
Must forever play its part,
Among the dreams and colours
Of a deaf and mute upstart.
In
quiet desperation
They sing the music of hate,
Born in despair and squalor,
One generation too late.
So
from love’s monotony
Dare to open freedom's door,
And see the orphans flying
From the paradox of lore.
But
tread softly on my dreams,
You must place your feet with care;
And lightly touch the senses,
If you’d catch the echo there.
A LIBRAN WAY OF LOVING
Just
a Libran way of loving,
Playing kings and queens and knights,
With all talking and no giving,
Simply justice, cause and rights.
Lost
in distant silent dreaming,
Balance jesters from the clowns;
In the endless web of scheming,
Romance screams, gives up and drowns.
Just
a Libran way of loving,
Closing mind and soul and heart,
While the troubadours lie dying,
And the Shamans must depart.
See
the heralds of the evening,
Clothed in silver, gold and grey,
Take the tears into their keeping
Of the ones who passed this way.
Just
a Libran way of loving,
In the opal light of dawn;
Now unmoved, unjust and smiling
Stand defiant while they mourn.
THE SYNCHRONICITY OF SORROW
The
synchronicity of sorrow
Breeds corruption of time’s thief,
And hyperbolical tomorrow
Adds duplicity to belief.
The
constant choking weeds of loss
Grow taller by the day,
As with sparkling ebony gloss
You choose to pay and pay.
The
twice thought though can kill you
Like too much love desired,
With pain and tears too few
For too much grief inspired.
Aspirations
writ in stone,
Accusations freely cast,
Where years cannot atone,
The sentence of my past.
And
the Universal Truth
Holds an age both gone and to be,
Yet still I hold the proof,
And still cannot be free.
OPAL
The
translucent opal light
Shines on another day,
With opalescent dawn
Glowing within its ray.
A
radiant, velvet mist,
Made perfect through the night,
While synchronicity lives
In pleasure at its height.
Illusions
of the morning,
On a mystic Shaman’s path,
Send down their restoration
Of chronological wrath.
So
metaphysical conclusion
Is the why and where and how,
But keep the touchstone flaming
On the road less travelled now.
I AM THE VOICE
I
am the voice of the fire and the earth,
I am the voice of your pain;
I am the voice of the stars and the moon,
I am the voice you’ll regain.
I
am the voice of the rain and the wind,
I am the voice of the sun;
I am the voice of the water too deep,
I am the voice of the one.
I
am the voice of the ice and the snow,
I am the voice of the frost;
I am the voice of the hail and the storm,
I am the voice you have lost.
I
am the voice of your life and your death,
I am the voice that you seek;
I am the voice of your sanity gone,
I am the voice that must speak.
I
am the voice of war and of peace,
I am the voice of the flame;
I am the voice of freedom and trap,
I am the voice of the game.
I
am the voice of the story retold,
I am the voice of return;
I am the voice of the words of the play,
I am the voice you will learn.
I
am the voice of resist and reform,
I am the voice of the day;
I am the voice of hunger and thirst,
I am the voice to repay.
I
am the voice of your right and your wrong,
I am the voice of your night;
I am the voice of the strong and the weak,
I am the voice of your light.
I
am the voice of the river of stone,
I am the voice of the sea;
I am the voice of both silver and gold,
I am the voice yet to be.
PISCEAN MOON
Somewhere
in the darkness,
Out beyond the void,
Lie the dreams and answers
Of a soul not yet destroyed.
Power
filled damnation,
Time past, yet to be,
Treading softly forward
With all its history.
Poet
and magician,
Mirror image bright,
Shaman of the vortex,
Casting spells of dark and light.
Twin
sided spirits lost,
Legends living strong,
The long ago myth
Of just where we now belong.
Rose
quartz cut with opal,
Yet shrouded with mist,
The ghost of yesterday
Still begs for life to exist.
Now
crushed and remorseful,
Awaiting new day,
While deep in the psyche
Forgotten memories play.
The
music continues,
The next life arrives,
When karmic repayment
Will show love has survived.
AGING
The
old grey cells stop working;
The body falls apart;
The limbs get weak and weary,
With strain upon the heart.
Day
follows into nightmare;
Awake in dreamless sleep.
Eyes fading with the sunshine;
Hearing quiet but deep.
Both
taste and smell are fleeing,
And touch becomes less joy;
The ageing process quickens;
All senses start to cloy.
With
a mind not so alert,
The spirit seeks to fly
From all the years of living;
Just waiting now to die.
In
great anticipation
I seek the further shore;
Released from every bondage;
Then re-born to the core.
To
come again in greatness,
Unfettered by the past,
By learning every lesson
The next life shall be last.
But
I must wait with patience
For death to call my name.
Until that happy dawning
Existence is the game.
REMEMBRANCE
The
chronology of distance,
The distance from the years,
The analogy of resistance,
Of time, and tears, and fears.
Still
leaving more than loving,
Still loving to the last,
With no belief in living,
Aspirations from the past.
Where
the bin-bag clown still dances,
Only dances in the rain,
And performance he enhances
Through his heart, and mind, and pain.
You
can see his psyche broken,
Broken pieces behind walls,
But you still accept the token
Of his hand before he falls.
White
horses in the morning,
The morning flayed with light.
White horses are still warning
To stay, and pray, and fight.
In
limitless remembrance,
Remembrance yours and mine,
Of time and place and chance,
Of reason, faith and rhyme.
So
with distance in our heads,
And knowing still the plays,
We can still pick up the threads,
However long the days.
FAR MEMORY
The
coincidence of time,
Synchronicity of fate,
All the roles within the mime,
Of reason, of love and hate.
In
the watches of the night
Is where knowledge finds the truth,
Seeing justice at its height,
Weighing wisdom from the proof.
Long
ago days of pure laughter,
Mind spinning back through the years,
Weave the silence left after,
Into screams, and dreams and tears.
While
the ancient troubadour
Stands aside from memory,
Shutting each and every door,
Letting just the mind fly free.
Reputation
shot into shreds,
While you smile and cheat and lie;
But you can’t pick up the threads
Behind barricades built high.
From
the history of despair
You search back through every guilt;
In the element of air
Is the life to be re-built.
Seek
balance from resistance,
Only words and wit and jest,
And search in each existence,
For belief, relief and rest.
All poetry is copyright of the Web Mistress ©
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