Posts Tagged ‘Margate Sands’

I.

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 very 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 Plath and 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

II.

Then, as if stricken by a sudden chill
Groaning the only movement, all seemed still
A man stood mumbling, looking out the gate
The gate through which moments ago I came
He began to stir, pacing and waiting
Noticing me, he approached debating,

“And you! Do you know what is is, to be?
Oh Hannah, my Hannah I’m so sorry…
Being in time, time in being; I wrote…
Never mind the swastikas on my coat,
I told a thousand Jews a thousand times,
Intended to change things from the inside”

Interest lost, he turned back for the door
Though he muttered, he spoke to me no more

I waded through vapor rising from ice
Bodies frozen still by their own device
& across the sheet was Ronnie Reagan
Freezing, begging with the other masons
I neared the middle of the frozen room
There He was feasting; guarding His blue tomb

“You are the Beast and I am your disease.
I did as you pleased; me, you must now release.”

“Must I now? You dictate what I need?
Don’t hesitate! For on your fear I feed.
But this is quite curious, please do tell:
What would stray you from a warm home like hell?”

“I must confess, I sizzled with the best.
I’ve nothing left and I’ll never have rest.
My suffering is, with or without you.
Turn me loose, I’ve given you your due.
Your not my Father, just dad, Prince of Lies.”

With that he stretched his mouth and out poured flies
Their buzzing a noise I did recognize
My alarm buzzed, and the dream, realized

III.

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
Baptized 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

http://zenspeaknine.com/

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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