Her True Nature
So, feel, for Her,
She fell. Shall we,
Find gain embracing
Shebang’s joy and pain?
Her play more a deception,
Staging remorse and regret.
Disguising the fateful flight
Spiraling, spinning down …
Without Her Syzygy.
Tears drop, laughter shouts
This Magna Mater’s redoubt,
Backdrop for El-Shaphat’s fight,
As stars smile duping delight.
She desires worshipers
Bruised from bended knees.
Seeking Her promised grace,
Lighting candles, offering prayers,
Adoration to a frigid, rigid, statue
Cast high upon an altar
Rewarding Her mistake.
Young man rises from genuflect,
Walks out the Church in ecstasy.
Wild youth prancing steps of a steed
Searching pleasure passion palaces,
Tucked away within steel-concrete,
Towering cathedral constructed city.
Iron-clad girder Overlords watching,
Serving beyond the Unseen Hand.
His mind gallops through streets
Littered with strolling cadavers.
Corporate, clergy, legal birds of prey gather.
A declining civilization still demanding,
Constant homage: there’s no free lunch.
Wage on slaving, a detailed routine day.
His leisure, an elusive finite treasure.
Shall he order more amour?
Enraptured, distracted, avert the bore?
Buy her diamond rings, and much more?
Proposing to her prostrated, below
Hopes and dreams dangling from the Moon,
Sky languishing above the ruminating sea
Shall it be yes to his ravishing plea.
Waiting … lingering … unanswered
Time enough to live, love, and cry.
Sorrows sleep, tearing away the years
Waiting for true love on an eve
When reality shatters accusingly
Delivering white feathers to his bed,
Driving him to Siren songs of War.
Enticing enchantment, revealing
Scores of sacred nightmares.
Scared wounded soldier
A plaything, forgotten,
As She whimsically sings.
Dabbling Her feet in blood
Pouring down from battlefields;
Incantations through millenniums
Consecrating sacramental wine.
Whine it is with screams of dying
Murdering the solace of night and soul.
Mayhem dwindles on morning dew
Gory moans, mouthing the word:
Mother.
Poor chivalric sons, deluded and deceived
Lying grotesquely contorted, devotions distorted,
Supplicating heaven for Her womb to reopen,
Welcoming the ouroboros of eternal returns.
She devours worshipers
Bruised from bended knees.
Seeking to sate Her grace,
Lighting candles, offering prayers,
Adoration to a frigid, rigid, statue
Cast high upon an altar
Rewarding Her mistake.
Weary soul, mere survivor, plods along.
Steps leading to an estranged home.
Trauma slithering with memories.
Dread, agony, disturbs the hours
Distilling moments, lucid reckoning:
Hurting … always … inside.
Daylight glare blinds and binds,
Drowning depths of honor and pride.
Addicted to putting out burning sorrows.
Door opens a labyrinth of tomorrows.
Broken warrior, humpty dumpty through the streets,
All the King’s men ensuring his suffering kept discreet,
Consumed and crumbled in tortured meditations;
Pan handling employed seeking daily medications.
Moments that forever measure.
A mirage to escape the past.
Through the looking-glass, a unicorn,
Displays the horn causing previous scorn.
Standing lost before imaginings:
Did he grieve enough,
Battling for love or bluff?
Greeted with another feather
She’s tucked smugly in her hat.
His longing speaks a frozen gaze.
Reaching for words, twilight dwindles.
Nether currents of disquiet deliberation
Murmurs an uneasy reservation.
Ariadne appears, his question ignites,
Vetting inquiry upon the uttaravedi.
Shall we spend our lives occupying
One another’s place and space?
Birth, rebirth, sons and daughters
Under a canopy of pseudo-security,
Acting out proverbial parental scripts,
Society’s shallow bowl pretending bliss.
It is here our life’s course entwine.
Together the blood becomes one.
Housed within, the path grows old.
Done and redone, our souls are sold.
Sun sets and rises through many
Seasons, performing aging roles.
Evening, he sits contemplating,
Deliberating, watching his children play,
Joyful cardboard cutouts enjoy the day.
Vision captures thoughts out of time,
Photographic snapshot, shadow of his son.
Did Ariadne sway this child against him?
No future other than performing the past?
The eyes of the son set darkly,
Abattoir concave quest for glory.
Jingoistic slogans canonized,
Funnel words self-righteous.
Cattle-like courage confronting,
Stunner gun deadens fear forming.
Self-soothing, maintains a mother’s pride.
Shining in the stare of the son,
A stature of strength, a charade,
Scapegoat sent out to wilderness plains.
Salvation salivating the cunning due
Requesting to placate the Universal Muse.
A Savior’s salve to heal all wounds,
Snake oil, snake eyes, singing sacramental tunes.
Another war to end all wars,
Uniform obedient, military lore.
Men against men, again
Soldiers’ sorrowful duty on lend.
Father slowly shut his eyes
Drawing the aching inward.
Envisioning his son thousands of miles
Away from friendly family sighs:
Piercing sound of artillery,
Pulsating pounding bombs,
Terror gripped, scorching battlefield,
Grasping for life, while
Calculating odds for death.
Back home, Soldier son’s fiancée
Feigns protesting foreign violence,
As his father quietly weeps
And siblings forget with sleep.
Combatant now stands witnessing:
Snow gently falling to the ground?
Charred fragments scattering around?
Perhaps white feathers descending,
Marking the final moments surrendering.
As bullets enter heart and head,
Crouching, dazed disbelief.
Clutching pierced mortal coil,
Bleeding away his final farewell …
Looking upward …
Gaping … horror struck …
Trying to understand an ash-strewn heaven.
The answer lies whispering:
She delights in sacrifices,
Bruised with fleeced torn flesh,
Lamb of God perishing before Her.
Candles lit as prayers are wept
Adoration to a frigid, rigid, statue:
Cold marble Pieta
Rewarding His mistake.
(David Stanovcak, a.k.a. Ian, October 9th, 2018)
So, feel, for Her,
She fell. Shall we,
Find gain embracing
Shebang’s joy and pain?
Her play more a deception,
Staging remorse and regret.
Disguising the fateful flight
Spiraling, spinning down …
Without Her Syzygy.
Tears drop, laughter shouts
This Magna Mater’s redoubt,
Backdrop for El-Shaphat’s fight,
As stars smile duping delight.
She desires worshipers
Bruised from bended knees.
Seeking Her promised grace,
Lighting candles, offering prayers,
Adoration to a frigid, rigid, statue
Cast high upon an altar
Rewarding Her mistake.
Young man rises from genuflect,
Walks out the Church in ecstasy.
Wild youth prancing steps of a steed
Searching pleasure passion palaces,
Tucked away within steel-concrete,
Towering cathedral constructed city.
Iron-clad girder Overlords watching,
Serving beyond the Unseen Hand.
His mind gallops through streets
Littered with strolling cadavers.
Corporate, clergy, legal birds of prey gather.
A declining civilization still demanding,
Constant homage: there’s no free lunch.
Wage on slaving, a detailed routine day.
His leisure, an elusive finite treasure.
Shall he order more amour?
Enraptured, distracted, avert the bore?
Buy her diamond rings, and much more?
Proposing to her prostrated, below
Hopes and dreams dangling from the Moon,
Sky languishing above the ruminating sea
Shall it be yes to his ravishing plea.
Waiting … lingering … unanswered
Time enough to live, love, and cry.
Sorrows sleep, tearing away the years
Waiting for true love on an eve
When reality shatters accusingly
Delivering white feathers to his bed,
Driving him to Siren songs of War.
Enticing enchantment, revealing
Scores of sacred nightmares.
Scared wounded soldier
A plaything, forgotten,
As She whimsically sings.
Dabbling Her feet in blood
Pouring down from battlefields;
Incantations through millenniums
Consecrating sacramental wine.
Whine it is with screams of dying
Murdering the solace of night and soul.
Mayhem dwindles on morning dew
Gory moans, mouthing the word:
Mother.
Poor chivalric sons, deluded and deceived
Lying grotesquely contorted, devotions distorted,
Supplicating heaven for Her womb to reopen,
Welcoming the ouroboros of eternal returns.
She devours worshipers
Bruised from bended knees.
Seeking to sate Her grace,
Lighting candles, offering prayers,
Adoration to a frigid, rigid, statue
Cast high upon an altar
Rewarding Her mistake.
Weary soul, mere survivor, plods along.
Steps leading to an estranged home.
Trauma slithering with memories.
Dread, agony, disturbs the hours
Distilling moments, lucid reckoning:
Hurting … always … inside.
Daylight glare blinds and binds,
Drowning depths of honor and pride.
Addicted to putting out burning sorrows.
Door opens a labyrinth of tomorrows.
Broken warrior, humpty dumpty through the streets,
All the King’s men ensuring his suffering kept discreet,
Consumed and crumbled in tortured meditations;
Pan handling employed seeking daily medications.
Moments that forever measure.
A mirage to escape the past.
Through the looking-glass, a unicorn,
Displays the horn causing previous scorn.
Standing lost before imaginings:
Did he grieve enough,
Battling for love or bluff?
Greeted with another feather
She’s tucked smugly in her hat.
His longing speaks a frozen gaze.
Reaching for words, twilight dwindles.
Nether currents of disquiet deliberation
Murmurs an uneasy reservation.
Ariadne appears, his question ignites,
Vetting inquiry upon the uttaravedi.
Shall we spend our lives occupying
One another’s place and space?
Birth, rebirth, sons and daughters
Under a canopy of pseudo-security,
Acting out proverbial parental scripts,
Society’s shallow bowl pretending bliss.
It is here our life’s course entwine.
Together the blood becomes one.
Housed within, the path grows old.
Done and redone, our souls are sold.
Sun sets and rises through many
Seasons, performing aging roles.
Evening, he sits contemplating,
Deliberating, watching his children play,
Joyful cardboard cutouts enjoy the day.
Vision captures thoughts out of time,
Photographic snapshot, shadow of his son.
Did Ariadne sway this child against him?
No future other than performing the past?
The eyes of the son set darkly,
Abattoir concave quest for glory.
Jingoistic slogans canonized,
Funnel words self-righteous.
Cattle-like courage confronting,
Stunner gun deadens fear forming.
Self-soothing, maintains a mother’s pride.
Shining in the stare of the son,
A stature of strength, a charade,
Scapegoat sent out to wilderness plains.
Salvation salivating the cunning due
Requesting to placate the Universal Muse.
A Savior’s salve to heal all wounds,
Snake oil, snake eyes, singing sacramental tunes.
Another war to end all wars,
Uniform obedient, military lore.
Men against men, again
Soldiers’ sorrowful duty on lend.
Father slowly shut his eyes
Drawing the aching inward.
Envisioning his son thousands of miles
Away from friendly family sighs:
Piercing sound of artillery,
Pulsating pounding bombs,
Terror gripped, scorching battlefield,
Grasping for life, while
Calculating odds for death.
Back home, Soldier son’s fiancée
Feigns protesting foreign violence,
As his father quietly weeps
And siblings forget with sleep.
Combatant now stands witnessing:
Snow gently falling to the ground?
Charred fragments scattering around?
Perhaps white feathers descending,
Marking the final moments surrendering.
As bullets enter heart and head,
Crouching, dazed disbelief.
Clutching pierced mortal coil,
Bleeding away his final farewell …
Looking upward …
Gaping … horror struck …
Trying to understand an ash-strewn heaven.
The answer lies whispering:
She delights in sacrifices,
Bruised with fleeced torn flesh,
Lamb of God perishing before Her.
Candles lit as prayers are wept
Adoration to a frigid, rigid, statue:
Cold marble Pieta
Rewarding His mistake.
(David Stanovcak, a.k.a. Ian, October 9th, 2018)
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