I have convalesced with the best

You can see my footprints

Across the Margate Sands

Yet, somehow lived to bear witness

To Eliot’s Waste Land

What I’ve known I now believe

The poetry of dying becomes a thing of beauty

Agnostic letters forming the words of Gods

An archaic language still spoken fluently

By dreaming the dead dreams of desolation

Obtained my own house of pain

But I must set adrift from this harbor of shame

To be released from the benediction of being alive

A blessing not always guaranteeing life

I must reside where death can be an inspiration

No longer vainly, I commit suicide for spirituality

By traversing through the means of verse

I descend into limbo & purgatory

Where there is NOTHING divine

In this dark comedy

Only the “comfort of being sad”

Accompanied by the ramblings of the insane

Schooled by the inherited sins from an absent dad

Circling the seventh circle with Cobain

Soulless souls lost in this abyss

Nodding down to number nine

Where politicians preach with the nationalists

Which makes me recall Ezra’s influence

Allowing me to see where I once was blind

The power of the prodigal son returns

As a life renewed begins to surge

Call out to the forgotten kingdoms of heavenly affluence

Granting the power to resurrect thyself

Baptised by fire; my own sins I will purge

I ascend from the circles

Back to this land of the truly lost

The entombed fabrication of commercial reality

Where every act of love has its cost

Here I find myself amongst

A manifestation of manufactured identities

That I once gravely mistook for individuality

So soon it is that I curse my return

Sometimes a journey so dark

Can illuminate where fear finds its rest

Thus granting a great passion to kings

Generating the songs of which the poets sing

Seeking an eternal reward with little avail

We all must pursue this empty quest

While we search for our Holy Grail

Those loves lost too soon; leaving

For the shores of Avalon

I draw from its waters

To extinguish my infernal burns

I gently gather my ashes

From the lands they’ve been scattered

Collecting them in a Grecian urn

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Comments
  1. Diary Girl says:

    breath-taking poem… love it! 🙂

    • Thank you so much. I’ve always wanted to write an epic. It’s taken alot out of me. Got one more to ashes then two for the rise. I’ll be glad when it’s over

      • I thought I went to far with the poetic references, but I’ve been so haunted by Dante since I started writing the 500 days of phoenix and I kept thinking of how Virgil guided him, the poetry of Keats, Pound, and especially T.S. eliot and how they’ve guided and shaped me, T.S. especially. Thank you for taking the time out to comment.

  2. Diary Girl says:

    I love Eliot, Waste Land is my fav… I really like how you integrated the poetic references, it’s like natural…

    • I remember my english professor reading the line, “I will show you fear in a handful of dust” That one line changed how I would from then on write. It still makes the hair on my neck stand up. If you get ahold of the right edition, esp. the one with Ezra Pound’s guiding marks for the original manuscript, you could get an enitre classical education in poetry, literary calssics, political theory, and theology just from that one epic poem. Now that’s power. I don’t know of any other work that accomplished this to that degree. Dante exceeded it with the Divine Comedy, but it took him many more pages to do so. A lot of people criticize W. Land for being too vague, but that is lazy people not wanting to put in the leg work to learn what he is writing about.

      • Diary Girl says:

        People talk and they always will :)) Those who criticized this poem, are either stupid, or ignorant… they don’t understand poetry and the meaning behind each word… It is difficult song, but tnx 2 my English professor I found out the meaning hidden in the poem.

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