“A Tale of Tragedy”

I saw your life as a pool of agony.
Your pain filed and categorized,
in the mists of your self destruction.
I saw you scream your last declaration of distress.
“My father, my father, why have thou forsaken me”?
Then came the peace you sought for all mankind.
But only to your eyes.
Not mine, nor generations of mine.
Only your eyes saw that peace O Christ.
It was your soul alone, cleansed by the blood of your sacrifice, no others.
The peace you sought for all mankind was your own.
And in your own death you found it.
As will all the living, each for themselves, seek peace while in life.
But it is in death that peace finds us all,
and to each individual in their own way.
For men are not sheep, and gods, mere images of that peace we all seek.

The End

"The Mad Poet, a Self Portrait"

It takes many colors to make an artist.
Would you give me only one, for my
whole life's time? Would you be so cruel
a master to deprive me of my eyes and ears,
leaving me with just a taste of sweet life's air?
Would you be so cruel a master to rip open my
flesh with a scourge, knotted in your own
imperfections?
Then cast into your mire of damnation I'll stay.
She is black, he is white.
You both judged me gray.
The End

"The Last Peyote'Song"

Hear me O native brothers,
the time is nigh at hand.
The war is a-raging,
the same one that stole your land.
The people and the spirit ,
are dying by the masses hands.
The rites of your fathers,
ended by the mobs demands.
"The Last Peyote'Song"
Hear me O native brothers,
don't let them die this way.
Take up the battle raging, don't let
them die this day.
"The Last Peyote'Song"
Hear them ,their your brothers,
the families of a million clan.
Hear them, your little brothers,
dying at the masses hands.
"The Last Peyote'Song"
In the name of the so-called drug war,
no wrong can be done.
In the name of christian values,
no wrong can be done.
In the name of the white mans law,
no wrong can be done.
"The Last Peyote'Song"
The End

"Of Gods and Rain"

I called and no god answered.
I called again and again,
still no god answered.
Only the rain, beating it's
empty loneliness upon the alter
of my thoughts.
Only myself, in all my nakedness,
stand in childlike innocence before the world.
My flesh torn in ever flowing ripples,
like the seas of some sadistic nightmare.
My soul sings with every lash that
embraces my crimson skin.
Its pain a mere joy, to my thirsting anguish.
Like Wotan upon his tree, so I lay in self stylized torture.
The rivers of my blood flow to fill your cups O gods.
Yet mine remains empty.
Would you do the same for me?
And if you did, would you stay dead?
Or cheat me in your resurrection?
I have had enough of you O gods!
You are like the rain, that beats it's
empty loneliness upon the alter of my thoughts.
The End

"Worm Play"

Hfu the magick worm beast ,
dug blissfully the ground.
It ate it's way through funeral chests,
to find what would be found.
Hfu the magick worm beast ate the
bodies it had found. And grew quite
fat and large you see, at least three worm beasts round.
Hfu the magick worm beast is a god to be revered
Upon the mighty world of rot, its minion have appeared.
The children of decay in coffins free to play.
A happy god is Hfu, this and every day.
Hfu the magick worm beast sees all yet has no eyes.
It slithers through man's dreams on white belly lies.
Hfu waits for us in silence, it's food is when things die.
For Hfu the magick worm beast, death is "Ham on Rye".
Hfu the magick worm beast is such a joyous god.
To keep it so, don't burn your foe,
but place them in the sod.
Hfu O mighty worm beast, you are man's destiny.
For when I'm fat and ripe for pluck,
you shall devour me.
The End

"The Black Clock"

It sat for years in an old neighborhood shop.
Though dust covered and neglected,
it's hands never stopped. Unlike it's maker,
long since dead, "a poor obscure jewish fellow",
so the shop keeper said. Then right back to that clock
my obsession quickly led. It was a black onyx obelisk,
carved most queer. A monument to mankind with an
inscription all too clear,"Man's life is always fleeting,
as my hands are ever sweeping. Like the mourners sad
weeping, lamenting death is near". As morbid as it was,
I had to own it. The clock awakened my heart, as black
and cold as it. Like a trophy I bore it home. A place much
like the catacombs. I put it high upon a shelf, sat back and
grinned pleased with myself. I had my dinner, a smoke and
a drink, then off to bed, to enjoy my sleep. The silence of my
house was broken, like a word so gently spoken.
A low muttered thumping as if something was pumping.
"Must be the plumbing", I sneered. Incessant beating,
as if some-one were pleading, so
into the darkness I peered.
It came from my clock, my nerves shot with fear.
"Shouldn't that be ticking not beating I hear"?
Awe outweighed terror, from my bed I fled quick.
"Gimmick or gag, I must learn the trick"!
I removed the back panel, it was steel
and enamel, then into the clock I leered.
My god what a sight, I was frozen with fright.
Some buggers heart was in there. Then came the apparition
of a Rabbi's indignation. Coldly he glared at me and said,
"I put my heart into my work, for I am a servant of God".
With shaking fingers I replaced the cover to the clock,
in hopes that this spectral vision would stop.
Then until dawn I remained in shock.
Then off I went like a shot to the shop.
"Please"! I said to the keeper.
"Please take back this clock"!
"For my life is ever fleeting, as the clocks
hands are sweeping. I hear the mourners sad weeping,
lamenting, death is near".
The End

"The Bloody Hands of Revolution"

Mankind as a whole in union pay the toll.
Their cities fight each other.
One man kills his brother.
You want a revolution?
We are in a revolution. Now I ask you,
please do you have a solution?
You want goods, I want goods.
But at the cost of a thousand brotherhoods?
You've heard the words of solidarity.
You've felt the touch of workmen's charity.
Yet when your fight is won,
behold the same damnable parody.
I have no answers . No magical solutions.
Nor have I procured some newfangled constitution.
All I can offer is the same old fight for rights.
The desire for freedom, the birth of revolution.
This is our ecstasy, our golden illusion.
War of the masses, through the deception of classes.
Sure all is in conflict.
Was it not conflict itself from which sprang creation?
And so man built the Nazi nation.
Thus exaggerating my point all the way to damnation.
This forced the nations to join and fight.
To free the themselves from Nazi plight.
Yet in their victory it is clearly shown.
The same seeds of evil and O how they've grown.
So still we suffer the same malediction.
Our once just stature has lost its rapture.
Again I call to you, take up your arms.
Join with your brothers, sound the alarms.
We will fight the war that never ends.
A war eternal to reap and rend.
So let the blood be on my hands.
The lives of the masses from a thousand lands.
I give them war, revolution, the one true constitution.
So in the love of freedom we will always fight.
Thus all sides shall achieve their rights.
And our blood, but a sacrament of a million delights.
The End