A Trodden Path

A Trodden Path!
The fence keeps getting closer and closer,
This pervasive feeling of despair.
Staring at the clock, its hands never moving.
Losing track of time and place.

The mighty wind and tongues of fire, the black cloud overhead.
The dark gloom of the dawn.
Purveyor of the evil spell,
Coming to wipe the slate clean.

To strip away the calluses on the hearts of people.
These empty shells of men.
Bearing scars for things they had nothing to do with.
Having forsaken freedom to be happy.

The most vulgar of tin soldiers.
The savior is the diabolic seducer.
A surreptitious maneuver in the course of a broad campaign of exculpation.
My life intricately linked to my times.

Through tribulations we enter the world of god,
Love thy enemies, old
Wait on the lord, utterly dependable, utterly caring.
If He is good, why does He prevail over such an evil world?

Neither death, nor life, nor angels,
Nor principalities, nor powers can separate us form the lord.
This is the cost of discipleship.
The great divide between old and new.

Religion’s only a disguise, in the blood the foulness lies.
The shepherd tending his followers.
But the saints have gone marching by. new
The lake of dream, lost for ever.

Liberation of the human soul.
The void of space – time.
Lush air of bourgeois luxury, escapist fantasy.
A backed up flood inside me, breaking through crumbling dams.

Noises pervade.
A mist of mystery, a ghost of memory, maims me forever.
An invasion of locusts.
My ruin before my eyes, but still i go on.
Neither blindness nor ignorance.Nothing at all to back me.

Sensing gore as sharks do,
The dreary, endless sameness.
Burned into my conscience forever,
This is the spring season of my suffering.

Now follows the depression of the aftermath.
Tasting death for every man.
Chastening me for the future.
For I do not do the good I want,
But the evil I do not want is what I do.

Death and destruction,
Stalks this planet.
Borns and dies, at every moment.
Death universal does not affect me.

Time for apologies.
Sitting at the first pew at a funeral.
Right as a matter of law,
Right as a matter of conscience.

My expectation of salvation.
A tremendous eruption of energy,
There is a power in triviality.
Also in jumping boldly across the abyss.

All revolutions devour their children.
Heroes are worshipped for the present,
And pushed into the Ganges of oblivion.
Saying He who overcomes himself is divine.

I fell like the fallen angel, beautiful, but without peace.
Great in his plans and efforts,
But without success, proud and sad.
Strange exemption from the ordinary moral code.

A convergence for so much nostalgia, resentment,
A theatre of the absurd.
The man with the age, and the age with the man.
A fundamental anti-thesis to the age and its people.

My ignored existence on the fringes of society.
Embittered and misanthropic, longing for a great destiny.
Unable to forgive life for refusing me the heroic role I craved.
But instead, paltriness, gradual disillusionment, ironic contempt.

Abominable shame,,, reeking, smoky taverns.
Old men sat crouching on top of one another, as close as monkeys..
Having pride in themselves, the spiritual cancer,
Bolts of anathema, denouncing human credulity.
A breath of insipid reality.

Now, I fear my death.
The hilt of the castration knife.
Inching towards me.
My life flashing before my eyes,
The failure, prodigal.

A normal person, free and untrammeled artist’s life.
But lacking in all the luster, the fulfillment.
I tried everything,, religion,, art,, culture,,
Just got more lost within myself.

Looking back, what wrong did I do?
Why did I fail?
Is it me, or is it God that failed?