Jezebel

Today I shall speak of those moments
Where I trifled in the glory of a fool’s parade
Breaking my fingers, tearing my hands
For words that came by a chosen few, bitter in spite
Knives set on each other, the hilt to a heart of grit
And the point to mine
There I condemned myself to wither and die
Before I knew, the cold steel point dangled and prayed
On the very rhythm of me heart, all three of them
Months changed, Seasons passed and years sighed
And I remained where I stood, watching the world go by
The anarchist, the poet, the man to be hanged
His voice and words to die, reckless in a misgiving fight

And then the angel tilted the light to his darkness
As the walls came down, ravens ran crimson in pride
Blades flew to tear flesh, cackles of blood lusted laughter
But the eye opened, and captured a refrain stolen in time
The boundless prince savaged in words of madness
As the legends and mythology despaired of an era that went by
Two and Seventy hours waning, sleepless and broken
The words she spoke of love, music in her ears
Since her years of wanton muse and innocence
He growled to her as a beast and reminded her of abandonment
Till the angel broke down and cried
The moon caught in the sparkle of the tear filled eyes
But the blade fell free, and he caught his heart as it came to break

Boundless though he walked from the paths of trust
Of the pure, of innocence and the vision of faith and credence
With every word she spoke she proved him wrong
And caressed the vision of him as she did so, unknotting fears
Till there was a world beyond madness, against the world
That had the moment of every day without the sight of her
So now he knew, if there be anything of a word called love
It came in her, along with harmonious laughter and a shy whisper
Serenity traced her high cheeks, lips that tasted wine
Drinking to his name and the essence of guileless arrogance
The god of sleep walked envious, scoffed of his lovely possession
And the ticking moment closed on four months, eight and twenty days
Of excruciating penance, austerity and longing of the angels grace.

To the day she will walk the earth again, on the soil he stands
Beckoning the lost man, the fallen child to take her hand
And leave the stolen glances behind, the days in her wait
The barbarians of the centuries far, the villains of yesteryears
To Grecians who live beyond the distance of marble and columns
High and above the thoughts and reasoning of mortal plane
Grateful of the sun and heaven,
Watching her smile, call out a forgotten name
Asleep and smiling, watchful and willing of the time to come
Caught in her sleep, so peaceful, so silent, adorable as a gentle dream
She sighs within her tender breath, and in longing, my words lie in a fret
Though the days be far, noble lies that soft road wherein every turn
I’ll remain locked in the enchantment of her name, Jezebel…

Heavens Denied

I, the artist, am going to search for the very essence of beauty in this world. For I know, only the eye that cares to see it would claim it once it comes in sight. I will know and understand innocence and joy of living even though I will search for a long time. There will be pain, there will be sorrow as well; but I am knowing enough to realize that there will be happiness at the end of the road and it will wash away everything and leave them all behind as a simple memory that would search for a smile for those yesterdays. And eventually she would come and I'll taste the very grace of love and how it defines my life. I am the horizon.


He, the poet and the dreamer, is going to question forever and be lost within the search of answers. The very woes of complication would befal him as he knows of no start and would reach no end. Though with time and the amourous grace of a wordsmith, he'd unleash numerous works and poetry for everyone to read and those that give even a glance would have the answers he seeks. And eventually, when he is touched by kindness and passion, he would turn to his heel and run as far as fuel and his feet would take him. He is the mirror.

Who am I?

Wisdom Of the Gods

...and before I knew what I was doing, I had kicked the typewriter and threw it around the room and made it beg for mercy. At this point the typewriter pleaded for me to dress him in feminine attire but instead I pressed his margin release over and over again until the typewriter lost consciousness. Presently, I regained consciousness and realized with shame what I had done. My shame is gone and now I am looking for a submissive typewriter, any color, or model. No electric typewriters please!

Rick Kleiner

Wisdom of the Gods

It will be of little avail to the people that the laws are made by men of their own choice if the laws be so voluminous that they cannot be read, or so incoherent that they cannot be understood.

James Madison (1751-1836)

Fenrisulfr : An Excerpt

De temp en temp?

Fenrir: Love cannot be seen with open eyes and can only be caught with closed eyes; because with material and shapes being the only sights the open eyes can see, but what to make of love which has no shape, sight or colour. Therefore love can be seen with closed eyes, felt with open arms and understood only with a heart. And we ask why love is blind?

Anastassia: Please, you should stop now! You're making me feel-

Fenrir: Feel of what?

Anastassia: Loved, lovable, loving: something I considered stupid or not worth the essence in time or impractical, foolishly sentimental, need I go any further?

Fenrir: But you are, my love! And I'm merely pampering you, though it be not what you expect-

Anastassia: I beg your pardon; though it may not be what I expect but can you sure it is not what I want? The enthusiasm of a woman's love is beyond that of the realms of realization.

Fenrir: It might not be what you desired, but haven't you been lain in wait for? Might I go far as to say it be what you may have strived for? Saying so might make less of me extending the complement to me alone, but you know it be just and true.

Anastassia: The tides of love takes off masks that we cannot live without and before you know of it, we cannot live within. I've come across its first light and I may have taken a glimpse at the second. But what might I make of you? Is this what you desire? Ask yourself of your happiness and you cease to be so-

Fenrir: And these are the moments where I wish to say "time alone will tell".

Anastassia: No, not time but by your lips alone.

Fenrir: I know I am happy. I know I want you, and I have known that I always did and now I look for a lot more.

Anastassia: Then perhaps, we have a lot in stock to say. As a wise soul once said,

Is love a fancy, or a feeling? No:
It is immortal as the immaculate truth;
'Tis not a blossom shed as soon as youth,
It lies not in our power to love, or hate
For the will in us is over-rulde by fate.
Where the two are stripped long
ere the course begin,
We wish that one should lose,
the other win.
And one especially do we effect
Of two gold ingots like in each respect
The reason no man knows, let it suffice
What we behold is cons ensured by our eyes
Where both deliberate, the love is slight

Fenrir: :smiles languidly: To think an angel aloof and proud fell from the grace of heaven just to caress the matted fur of a man-beast, kiss his chapped hands and look tendre in his raging eyes. All because he howled to her but the moon.

A: Whoever lov'd, that lov'd not in first sight. Pardon me, my love for quotes and rhymes gets the worst or the best of me and at moments as these, I would not be wrong. I am all but arresting that there has never been a time like this.

Fenrir: Take heed, woman, for you hold my heart within your hands.

Anastassia: You must be speaking of the past, my Leander, for tonight what was in your heart is in mine and for ever.

Fenrir: Bless me, and them fools say that you fall in love, I did admit so once but since I've courted your grace I have done all but fall and learn’d to rise.

Anastassia: Then rise to the level of the sun, so even he would shy away from the brightness in your eye.

Fenrir: And now I am at a loss of words, and only you can make a poet stumble upon his tongue. Is it passion, or could it be a lot more?

Anastassia: What might be your thought; does passion inspire a poet against the gods? Or does it give you to free everything that has been hidden till now? Passions are no more forgiving than human laws and burdens, though they reason justly so. Are they not based on a conscience of their own, infallible as an instinct?

Fenrir: And pray, tell me how would I come to know?

Anastassia: Hark, I wish to speak more but I have to make haste. I hear them searching for me and they find you there would never be the promise of another night. < exit>

Fenrir: Till how long would you wound me so? Oh, the Gods be to curse, for he showed me the the vision to her and lit the path to her, but snatched oft the sands of time which binds my fate to her now and for ever. : thoughtful: For-ever - oh, for how long would this be so?
*
**
***
****
***
**
*
Raw
This is an excerpt of a bit I wrote in College and hacked it when I saw that it couldn't go the direction I wished it to go. However, the charming part of this bit is that it is based on a real conversation which took place between me and a remarkable lady a long long time ago.

Oath to Mars

I live alone with the dark
My very soul a sword
Except to those under me
Fatal to any coming close
*
Since I have nothing to lose
A fearless blade is sharp
Walk on mountains of rubble
Crush anything left standing
*
I fight, slay to roam tireless
Need only a path to victory
Know not of the word defeat
If I lose, life itself will end
*
I conquer, loot and plunder
No love for a soldier’s heart
Gone are smiles and pleasure
Just a blade and scars to show
*
**
***
****
***
**
*
Raw

This poem dates back many many years and is the only one I have memorized. I wonder how many would understand the essence behind these staunch words...

Ballad of the Fallen Angels...

Beyond the holy light of the moon
Echoed your voice piercing night,
Angel of Eden, pray who are you?
Beckoning me to claim the fruit
As the doors of fate are lost forever;
Never to reveal what it once held,
And anxiously I hold me breath
For I know where my zest lies;
Within those eyes that tell a tale,
Red fumes within a mystics seal;
A smile that ebbs away slowm
For the sorrow that comes with it
Sweeter than the taste of first rain-
Our journey is yet to begin, love;
Call the winds to cushion the fall,
Kiss away the pain that will come,
But the heart that throbs so hard
Can never forget what it heard;
Tossed like a scarf into the draft,
Dancing with the clouds for days,
Just waiting forever to be caught;
Brimming in the wanton desires,
Whisper for time to chime a call;
A breath that tells of eternity,
The wild flowers ruled the land,
Heaven entwined in our fingers,
But the wolves that ran died;
Their howls just echoing now,
Without the voice behind them,
The brambles they slept on froze,
Earnest to be remembered again:
But it is time alone that will tell,
Within the pages of our destiny-
The tale of the angels who fell.
*
**
***
****
***
**
*
RAW
An falling attempt in making something out of the mumbles of a drunken fool… this is as far as I could go...