Neferus

Neferus looks at the piece of steel in his hand, the jewel-encrusted saber hilt covered in the blood of slain children, the blade clean and thin - waiting again for more, to prove itself one more to the striker.

"What...what have I done?" Neferus drops the sword and backed away, staring intently at his now blood covered hands, "I, I don't remember...how did I...what happened?"

Yells begin to build from down the corridor as the flicker of torches dance against the shadows on the walls as the guards rush to the sounds of babes' now-silenced screams.

Neferus held himself in the crack in the wall, barely breathing as the guards knelt by those slain only a few feet near him. He held his face towards the shadows, letting his raven hair block the light, allowing him to blend in amongst the darkness. Only did Neferus breath freely once the guards ran past him, down further into the darkness of the underground corridor beneath the cities.

"I need to know what happened, I need to know who they were, and who's sword that was..." Neferus went to the slain and picked up the richly-decorated sword off the ground.

The light off of the torches hung every few meters began dancing off of the smooth blade, catching on the jewels on the hilt and creating visual melodies on the corridor walls.

"I need to know, so then I can trade my soul for those I killed. I need to know..."

Never learned, Always known.

A language - never learned,
always known,
spoken by lovers
and attempted translations by artists.
Generations get close -
but the language always adapts -
speakers always a few phrases
ahead of the word works.

Love - a language
never learned but
always known -
crafted artificially by blacksmith poets,
re-imagined by acid-tripped painters,
fantasized by heart-strung musicians.

Love - a first language,
a mother tongue to the unfamiliar,
spoken by many -
understood by all.

Love - a language
yearned for, striven towards,
spoken and heard, impossible to
translate -
yet internalized by all,
externalized by few.

Love - never learned,
always known.

Memories thicker than Blood...

I close my eyes,
I can feel the early-fall crisp breeze,
I can see the colors of the music blowing through
the young birch tree in my backyard.

It's no surprise that my soul yearns for the outside,
it comes at such a high cost - to leave these walls,
How my soul yearns for the outside,
how my mind craves the law of the society inside.

I see and I must have -
every smell must be known,
every taste must be had,
every sight seen,
and every sound heard.
I need it all - without it,
my being would be lesser than
another's soul.

I open my eye,
I no longer feel a breeze -
just stopped time,
the colors have paused, the music on a hold-note,
the birch paused in growth and flourish,
I close my eye,
and the world breathes again.

Musical Apostolization

The beat-up '96 Honda pulled in behind me,
playing hymns of legendary gods;
Zeppelin, Clapton, Who, Tull,
a symphony of musicians so amazing,
weaving spells of unbridled passions against suffering,
against wars, for love,
for creativity and for humanity -
spells born out of madness of musicians
fantasies carved out of imaginations
realities reaching out to you and me -

"Ugh, that music sucks," like arrows in my side,
I turn and see a Hummer yell out obscenities,
"Turn that shit off hippie!"
The beat-up '76 Honda pulled-in behind me,
turns up the hymns of cosmic brilliance,
only to the quickly building vitriol of the teen.

Red light changes to green,
Hummer takes off never to be seen (again),
the vintage '76 Honda pulls up beside me,
a Gramps teachin' his grand-babies the truth,
of what music was and what it still can be.

Philosophy Lecture #1

The philosopher stands in front of the class
buzzing, droning, annoying the students
to death...
A teen so fed up with the injustice of death
by annoyance -
thinks herself out of existence.
Socrates is himself bored, Plato has
begun to hit on younger men -
Glaucon has passed out and Thrasymachus left for war.

The philosopher stands in front of his class - his
class willing to replace the lemmings,
the lemmings already dead.

United States of Awful

It's not easy to breathe -
this suffocating hot-dog & apple pie
down through the throat -
it's everywhere;
shops, churches,
schools, hallways,
bedrooms & bathrooms.

I'm choking on Uncle Sam's cock;
forced to swallow a load
of bullshit jingoism -
I used to love you America,
but we've changed -
I've moved on and met other people;
better people -

So while you call me up & ask if I want to
go out on a date,
Know that I'm banging Europe -
and they've rung my
Independence bell.