Gilgamesh

Startled in the pre-dawn light
I awoke in time to see
My thoughts, my dreams,
Rush up the bedroom walls,
Leap in the quiet air
Through the windowpane
To God knows where.

The ceiling did not replenish dreams,
Not the closet, not the couch.
But the bookshelf held out hope.
In the gloom was tossed a rope.
To pull me from my bed
That grew or shrank
With the weight of joy, sadness,
Dread and madness.

At the other end of the rope
Gilgamesh stood and spoke:
Do not pine after dreams
Of storms and bulls and
Birds that breathe fire.
You have not lost your Enkidu,
Your innermost desire.
Your wildness sleeps
Without need of rest or dreams.

The good life is not lived
Building walls, fortifications
To keep your beloved safe and true.
Immortality is not given you,
Neither youth nor vitality
Outlast the adventure.
The monster in the mountain
Must be slain, though it bring
The rage of gods, the winds of war.
From unknown lands your dreams will spring.

Akai

The light of the stars above the city
first sparked over a Scandinavian village
in the long forgotten past.

Now, the light has reached
the dilapidated old building,
set aside for the impoverished,
the long forgotten, and the rats.

There, in the darkness of a stairwell,
a shot rang out.
The monstrous Grendel tumbled, dead.
No doubt some mythic greatness
would await the heroic officer.

Only it was an accident without a monster.
And the officer was a villager,
like so many of us, so many of us.

In the days that followed, the elevator
would see repair
so the stairwell could be avoided
until the lights, too, could be replaced.

Noon

He died alone

In a faraway land,

Left to lie

In an unmarked grave

In the slowly sifting sand.

He'd left his home

In a faraway land,

His spirits high

On voyage to save

The poor in an alien land.

But the aliens cried

When they saw his gifts;

A savage rage of waiving fists -

In a hail of stones he died.

His gifts were books

The villagers feared

For their dark foreboding looks,

Locked in a box

And piled with rocks

On a dune the sun would sear. 

No avian eye, no scratching claw

Could see what the villagers saw:

The myth of civilization

Belied in a book of war,

The tale of a god's creation

Destroyed in a jealous roar,

And the senseless doom of saviors

Whose lessons we all ignore.

 

 

The Fortune Teller

I'm sorry.
I don't believe
That what you do is true.

That is what
I told the Fortune Teller
On a warm city night
As she stood upon the corner
In the shadow of the lights.

But it is true - a truth
As strange as it is old;
You will believe
If you are told.

Listen. She said:

You are the Unbeliever,
Destroyer of Worlds.
With your Mind of Doubt,
Dragons you will slay,
Old ghosts rout out.

With doubt clear as day,
Charlatans you'll banish.
Priests here will not stay
And mysteries will vanish.

But beware the magic of negation.
In the fusty superstition
Lies the bedrock of our nation.

Though you lead the modern man,
An army of numbers and scales,
You will find that all your plans
Lack the passion of mythic tales.

So do not presume to find me
Alone in the street forlorn,
For my heart mirrors the stars -
The harbor of love
Before Mind was born.

Castle

Impregnable
Wall of rock
Sheer and steep
Above a moat
Of waters still and deep;

Imposing,
The yawning keep,
That beckons from
The drawbridge
At my feet.

Narrow the way
Through the iron gate:
Beyond those walls
Their world awaits.

Nobles, ladies,
In finery played
Their flutes and dulcimers
Round the table well laid:

Goblets of wine
And meats with cheeses,
Candles that swayed
In the evening breezes.

Blown has the wind of centuries,
Gone now the tapestries, luxuries,
Silent the courtyards and hallways,
Where troubadours once sang their lays.

Dance a while yet, I say.
Safe within the mind’s walls,
Lords, ladies and thralls,
As phantoms you may stay.

Endless

You and I will both be dead
Before Endless;
The color on your lips
Both drained of red
Before Endless.

This American Empire
Will crumble to dust
Before Endless;
Like Ozymandias’ works
By winds into the sands thrust.

The worm on the pavement -
How many forms will it take
Before Endless?
From worm to earth to rain
To the firmament,
This cycle, too, will end pain
Before Endless.