Phoenix

You may have set fire to yourself, burnt your heart out and emerged from the ashes, a phoenix golden and resplendent. Having found your wings, you sail into the light without anymore heed of the dark whispers that used to haunt your reveries. My dear, I am a coward. I have no courage to step into the fire and rouse the demons within to slaughter them. I look for light but I realize, not hard enough. Winds of change do not lift these deadened limbs of mine. I have not yet earned them. I ponder these things when I trace the words sent from the Sky yet I am not moved. I wish to but I am not. This black gauze in my mind is the root of the matter. This flawed existence I live pains me more than anything so I distance myself from everything. Perhaps this pit of mine is fire after all. Who is to know? It rings in my ears, this keening howling from within.

Astray

Like a shooting star

you're burning, dying

not flying, falling.

Come back to Earth.

The space you traverse

is vast, vacant & light-less

Eye of Light, Light's child

Darkness prey upon you

I worry about you.

Star-child, Earth

is temporary.

Seek Eternity.

__________________________________________________________________________

Note: I allude to you name, your light. Please take care. 

Portrait

When drawing a portrait, a face is reduced to a landscape of lines
The persona abolished momentarily
the subject yields to physicality.

When drawing the eyes
The artist plunges into the subject
and all demarcation dies
       —His mind, his anima
laid bare in a cacophony of folds
         —between the brows, around the eyes, within them.
Set to behold, all that a soul withholds.

When drawing the mouth
The subject's unspokens spill
His thoughts frozen still
        —His emotion, his sentiment
expressed in a mould
        —of flesh pressed together, with varying pressure.
Set to behold, all that language cannot told.

A portrait begins in disparity & ends in unity,
culminating in a union of the artist & his subject,
their distinct Reality.

Eff off

Fickle voices ringing
angry voices berating
annoying voices choking,
all this noise.

Just shut the fuck up people
I'm sick of your world.

Dull minds misunderstanding
brilliant minds condescending
empty minds uncaring,
this lack of imagination.

I'll set fire to your impinging presence
and strangle your lofty pretensions.

______________________________________________________________

Note: I'm tired of people shitting on my parade. Just, leave me be.

Espy

This tawdry life is a chore

but you my friend,

whose renegade ways

and light-winged mind

flit through as if a butterfly,

you ease this embalming bore.

It does not matter if half in love

I skitter the edges of madness,

just so I could be amused

tossed away and abused

for I'd rather be seduced,

my idle vigour educed.

These lines are mirthless

if you care to ponder,

just so for I am listless

with naught to bother.

So carry on dancing

leave me be, espying.

_____________________________________________________________

Note: I shouldn't allow myself to draw parallels between fantasy & reality. These two do not mix. Alas my muse care not for such trivialities. Everything blends into a hue of otherliness. I ought to stop caring.

Loyal Heart

I don't trust my thoughts,
not when it concerns yours.
Whatever glints of your mind,
I dare not deduce them as glimpses.
          One's inner-workings is what it is,
          inner-workings.

Forgive me when you ask
"What do you think?" and I,
 answer with the lowering of my gaze.
I will not subject myself to you.
           It's cruel when you prey on me,
           walk through me, as if a maze.

You must know when you say "Tell me more"
it whips my pride but I suppose you do know
since my musings to you, I cannot hide.
It is unfortunate that I am loyal
             to you, as if you're royalty.
             Tis my enemy, my frailty.

Dear friend, say no more
Your words are poison to me.
I am but an addict being played
by your endlessly attractive axioms.
              I am but a starved romantic
              who thrives on your virgin tragedy.

_________________________________________________________________

Note: I must say I don't think the last stanza presents my wishes well. I'll fix it later, somehow.

Always, unrelated images of my silliness is caught in the dragnet of musings caused by beauties decidedly separate. Yes, how cryptic I am but then again how shall I survive if all is transparent and laid to see so completely and utterly? As if all that isn't already a stick I'm bending to it's utmost limits. To the very limits my capabilities allow me at least.

Fearlessness

The dark may consume my mind
yet I shall not fear
emptiness may hollow my world
yet I shall not fear.
The conscience is a muted voice
that can't be extinguished.
It will never abandon you.

If you can find in your heart
the fire that burns your wick
and greet death in your thoughts,
you shall be fearless.
In your untainted and unrelenting
fear for God,
you are fearless.

Matryoshka

I sought to breach the echelons of loneliness
hoping to emerge wisened if not enlightened.
All I ever achieved though is solitude
which I vaunt of its bleakness –– 
                     my broken heart in multitudes.

The wound in my mind is a haloed hole.
Like ravaged old Russia and her banished kulaks
I am vast, barren, blood-stained & cold.
Alas I have no paladins to champion me –– 
                             my ambitions are mere larks.

I have given up trying to be worldly
This putsch against the seeds of my soul
I have halted for it has lost its fealty.
My love for my vozhd' futile –– 
                             my hopes dying in a howl.

_______________________________________________________________

Note: 
Titled 'Matroyshka' because: The "matryoshka principle" is also an example of Mise-en-abyme.

                                                                                      (Source: from wiki page on Matroyshka dolls )

[exceprt from Mise-en-abyme.]

Mise en abyme (French pronunciation: [miz‿ɑ̃n‿abim]; also mise en abîme) is a term originally from the French and means "placed into abyss".

The commonplace usage of this phrase is describing the visual experience of standing between two mirrors, seeing an infinite reproduction of one's image, but it has several other meanings in the realm of the creative arts and literary theory.

I'm not sure why I wish to elaborate on this. Not that it matters but what does matter is that you were my personal 'Russian Revolution'. My 'Red October' which occured in the month of June of which I was not aware of until much later. All this purging is all that inspires me these days or if I care to be brutally honest with myself, all this purging is precisely all that inspires me period.