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The Mages Son The Mages Son
“I need to Focus” Magnus thought. He silently scolded himself for even needing to remind himself that. He had been training and preparing months for this night, He couldn’t afford to lose concentration now. The candle flame softly danced about casting a warm light about Magnus’s living quarters. It just barely illuminated the small plain room enough to make out a sleeping cot, an array of peculiar objects on oak desk and tapestries covered in mysterious knotted symbols that covered the walls.
A young man dressed in a plain grey and silver trimmed tunic sat on the floor wrapped in a thick fur cloak. He was aware of nothing but the candle flame. His
Sanguine MoriThe sun rises and I pray I won't remember.
Shadowed in fear, precious moments bleed away.
In the peace between the scars, I find strength, I can't give in.
But memories don't fade when hurts become real…
My heart was weak, My love for you was blind.
You tore it out, laughing as I cried.
Sanguine Mori, You were my everything.
Why can't you see? My sacrifice was ME.
The sun sets as dreams take my mind.
My soul is free, she comes to me in the night.
Chasing a mirage, I saw what I wanted to see.
Love was a sweet illusion for the broken pieces of me.
My heart was weak, betraying all my lies.
You tore it out, Seeing my disguise.
Sanguine Mori, I never wanted to be.
Draining your life, Feeding on your dreams.
IllumiNationIn land of the cursed, the valley of the damned,
With wings of despair, He's crossing it's sands.
Marching for days, he barely can stand.
No vision, no hope, no grand master plan.
His life became lifeless, stale and dry.
His body was weak and ravaged by time.
Nowhere to turn in the kingdom of the blind.
Hate has forsworn him, he leaves it all behind.
Renouncing his faith, embracing the pain,
Reliving his life through the eyes of Cain.
Dreading the shame, seducing his grave.
Shadows grow long as life fades from his veins.
Chaos descends, he make his own laws.
Within his own mind, his guiding light is gone.
With no end and no means, he curses the gods.
A man with no nation, but not all who wander are lost.
A voice in the dark, enticing and clear,
unveils a mystery, it brings him to tears.
Flames of freedom burn away his fears.
Revealing a threshold, the phantom disappears.
Change this lifeHiding in the shadows
Resisting in secrecy
Trying to find a way
To change this life of misery
The future is unknown
The past is to forget
The present is dull and boring
Is this what life has to offer?
I want to change
And I keep trying
Only to fail miserabily
Every single time
eight ways you've made me small1. I wish
this was for you.
2. my journal pages - the
brown one with all our monologues -
were jarred with hollow vows of
last poems of
letting you slip into a coma
of bad memories, watching you
fall to your death off
a cascading cliff of disease
and dis ease.
it was never
easy for me
3. there's a reason I ask
whether you're grey
(dark white, elusively black, in between)
or blue (behind the clouds, under wave-foam,
whateverthefuck runs through the back of my
palms); I'd rather have
than the arms
that once held you half-
heartedly. you had always been
my harmony and I
would have killed
to have been yours.
4. it could never have been just me, the way
it could never have been just
5. disasters are not beautiful,
but how is it that you
managed to make my inner linings
converge into bows
and explode into wings the very
night you decided to rebuild your walls
to a lower height?
6. I wish
Whenever I hurt myselfI have a feeling
Someone is watching
So I look around
But there's no one to be found
on bradbury and table dancingYou are not a wordsmith
whatever you might like to think. ('Smith'
indicates precision and coldness and fire:
words are softer than that unless you mold them strong.)
It's a difficult road to follow, and not many
make it past the fork. Choose a path,
Janus says, whirligig keys spinning on his shoulders:
I am a wordworker, with my tools too crude, forming
rough-edged carvings painted with pretty imagery.
Notebooks scattered across the landscape
of a child's room, to be stumbled across,
read, red-penned, in the thick and choking breath of night.
When the bough breaks
a hanged man laughs. He carries typewriters
in his pockets, and cigarettes in the soles of his shoes.
I will never be a word mistress,
whoring myself to the speech of people I do not know and will never know me.
The oven is set to Fahrenheit 452, but the words were already aflame
before they ever took shape under your tongue.
You love everything they've ever written, and carry
unabashed loathing for every syllabl
ExpirationWith you I always feel like I’m
to break in the wrong size of shoes.
Sometimes I sit and stew
over how you’re seventeen and
you think I’m a princess
the trapped-in-a-tower kind
and how you wear suits and talk about politics
and think you know the world.
My throat interrupts with an affronted gurgling sound
sometimes when I think about you,
you deal out advice where it just isn’t called for
you quote science-fiction to justify war
and you’re seventeen years old and you think I’m a princess
and you just have no blooming idea.
Darling, one of these days I will tell you my mind
But until then we’ll never fit
I’m afraid –
that even after that day
you’ll still be trimmed hedges and
when i stimulated the prayers of rib-beat
when i licked the temple of my teeth,
speed pushed my fingers shaped like confessionals
clasped holy, carved my throat to fixing-
lover; i did this for the anthem of your eyes,
the feel of strangled feet crushing the fame of stars
for the glow of streetlight worship, for the moons
of your crooning throat, for the halls of your arms,
the strayed revels of your arms,
lover: you manufactured a god out of the drugs i used
and had me addicted to the divine, to the dignity of music
you pressed in my direction: just what i am, hallelujah,
marijuana, day and night-
lover, i fell in love with your culture
that preached the real definition of dusked kneecaps,
the plea of closeted throats, the whisper of bless,
unlearning how to say please god in borrowed tongue,
i fell in love with your attention, nervous grace
lover. i levied the rubble of my sins
Even The City KnowsIs it at all easy?
Being by yourself, I mean.
Sitting in a car, on a train, on a bus--wherever you might be now, isn't it hard to be a drifter?
There are no men with newspapers, no women with strollers, no love-crazy teenagers, no annoying toddlers, no anybody.
You stare out the window, like there are people out there, calling your name. The trees are out there, and they've lost all their leaves, all their buds--they've lost everything, just like you.
The sky is out there, and it's gray and colorless, just like you.
The stars are out there, and they're so blown-out-of-proportion, and they're just like you, too.
But the trees, the skies, the stars, they're used to being left alone.
You lack the ebullience of your drink, but it, too, is fading.
Frost has gathered on windows, on the ground, on rivers, everywhere.
Frost comes and goes, just like you, when you finally melt away.
The city draws to darkness and quiet--it disappears, just like you.
But, even frost
Death to the LoversHe screamed,
He tore his hair from his scalp;
But it didn't bring her back.
The beautiful girl
With the gorgeous smile
And witty remarks
Would always lay six feet under.
She would lie in her death bed,
Her arms folded on her chest
And her face full of peace
Known only to the dead.
He would be the first to rot.
First his health,
Then his sanity.
She would forever feed on his emotions
Like a pretty little leech,
Sapping his well being
And happiness from her underground world.
And he would let her,
For a fool like him
Who allowed himself to love,
A Memento MoriPresently unconscious,
how do you see?
Open the door,
Tides of change,
seas of pain,
the third eye bleeds
the fabric of reality.
We are repeatless.
Time is, time was, and time will be.~ As one.
Can you feel it?
You are me.
I am you.
All is we.
See what is empty.
Keep words unspoken.
Don't fool yourself.
Look at this moment.
What you see
is beyond eternity.
Pure and unending.
Life is repeatless.
Time is, time was, and time will be.~ As one.
Pulse like a drum.
Leave it all behind.
What it means to be human,
is to live and be alive!
The power within,
engorged with what has been,
is beyond good and sin.
Seek to be enlightened.
You WILL see beyond eternity.
You WILL remember your own mortality.
We are everything and nothing.
~A sweet "Memento Mori."
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