Read it Live
dedicated to promoting budding poets, writers and bloggers

I know not love.
I have never loved one
without my self.
That may mean I just might be
more accursed than I think.
And that, dear friends and all,
is a scary thought.

Does hell exist or heaven?
I’ve seen enough to know
we can create our own of either mode.
But if they exist,
they need not my approval.
They will exist
without my earthly stamp.

God lives in me.
I live in Him.
It is only a matter
of death and design.
In the whirlpool called Ahad
We All come together.

I rip the heart of an atom out.
All that spills out is the blood of the sun.
I trip and fall across the aeons
of lost stars and struggling universes;

He stands laughing behind each door.

His shadow sustains me.
And which of my gifts will you reject?
He asks.
I flail blindly with arms spread .
I see one. I see none.

Undoubtedly in My rememberance
will You find peace, my Love!
Says He.
I blabber with amnesia,
and my heart and body fail.

I once slept in a grave
by the side of an acquaintance
who had just passed on.
They lowered his body
and left him there.

My body left.
I remained.

The doors of Heaven
are in my rest.
The torments of hell
are on my body.
Worms devour me.
My soul sleeps on, forevermore.

Sleep, dear heart!
You have suffered long enough.
I loved you for venturing
into the House of the blues.
You vowed to take on
torments refused by angels
and hoories and devils and
demons.

I bestowed on you a trust
which the mountains- proud and stern
and tall and mighty
they might seem to you - refused,
rumbling in terror,
sending up showers
and curtains of rock and stone
whirling in the air
like cotton wool.
So it was on
that Day of the Covenant
That You bowed your head
and said, “Indeed You are!”

So sleep now.
There’s an eternity for slumber.

At no time did
the door of existence close.
There never is nonexistence
draped in a shallow curtain
of not being.
I defy that.
I defy death to defy me.

I was a hidden treasure.
I created You to discover myself,whispers my Love.
My Love is my love forever.
He erases me from myself.
He takes away my pain and piety.
He gives me kindness and time.
He loves me like I love my Love,
and what greater than that ever
in all aeons of all creation?

I saw a Ladder once.
It led up.
I followed the rungs like
an entranced child
stepping on ripples of moonlight
across a dark water
to go to the moon.

Each rung was a veil.
Each veil was a kindness.
Each kindess was a darkness.
And the ladder spiralled
round and round
in a whirpool
that centered at my heart.

Submission is the hardest thing
to do in the world.
Yet I lie.

I have no Beatrice,
no Ligiea, nor am I
Dante or Poe.
Yet I scream into the wind
lies that spin and collide
into the heart of darkness.

She is a shade, a shadow, a memory.
A state of being. A state of knowledge.
A sense of time.
A hope of more.
A loss of self.
A gain of sunlight
dappled across my ungainly chest.

We helped each other over avalanches,
over snowy cliffs and slippery slopes.
She placed her hand
on my shadow’s hand.
Touch defiles a goddess.

I dream.
Of parallel worlds
and time holes
and quantum foam
and burnt stars
and lost love,
forgotten friends,
deserted beaches,
broken promises,
burning betrayals,
ashy tears,
incomplete explanations,
tender touch
fierce passion
different I’s,
similar agony,
haunting faces
frosty winds.
I dream I dream I dream.

Hell lies.
‘Tis I who was created before all else.
My presence cools
the flames of Hell.
The sinners gather around me,
their fears vanquished,
their agony long gone.
‘Tis I who’s in the mirror
in the mirror.
I live in the heart of atoms
and the precipice of the cliffs
none traversed.
My sound is the scraping
of weary pens on paper.
My eyes are the glimmer
of light on snow.
My ears are the trembling fingers
of the deaf,
my tongue the sorrowful stare
of the homeless.

I am born from the Pre-Eternal Chrysolite.
My name is Man. Man.