The following's copyrights are waved for electronic text only. Any printed media versions of all or part is a violation of copyright law. Duplication of this text by electronic means is restricted to distribution with RDX (Readdx) 4.0 as the primary viewer, even in such cases where this program is not compatible with other (non PC compatible) systems. The purpose of this distribution is to demonstrate attributes of the above mentioned program with regards to certain types of literature. Montage By Jared P. DuBois (c) Copywrites 1986,87,88,89,90,94 Montage is from.. The Vestatile Verse repetition Triumvirum Quadranine pentacle Montage is.. neither acceptance nor denial The Immortals, Mortal Rectitude Affinity, Centricity, Life (again.) Time Again, In Ignorance maelstroms leading up Rites of Passage, Landmarks Left By Chasten Not I, A Moment's Peace Distance Closes In, In My Prime Less than Whole, What was then sounds of our love's song As it is Absence Presence and Promise Fulfilled Once Bitten, Four- Leafed Clovers Remembrance, A Single Rose I found my soul, We Once Touched, Goodbyes To Be You, Give me love of life and truth and fate and lies The Long Journey, The Wayfarer The Executioner, The Cauldron of Fontaine Once a King to make a sound or stir Contemplating Freedom, Fears of finding out The Haunting, I cannot see me My mind is Free, Once is me Starry- Eyed and Boisterous to question why Our Legacy of Lethargy, To Wit Outgrown Innocence, Death of a Child Automatons, The Eternal Yoke Sword of the Slight, Conscientious Objectors the indomitable straits of time Motions Passing, Eclipsed Momentous Moments Moments of Repatriation, In Unison Prismic, Waiting, Tomorrow on into the sunset The Dark Horse, Excelsior Crystal Castles, Lexicon neither acceptance nor denial The Immortals Beat fast oh heart of endless motion that carries us through the shrouded stillness of the omnipresent cold eternal night which holds countless souls captive, entombed within its endless fiefdom smothered in angst and robbed of sight Move quickly you who dare to think that you have any relevance to it all or it to you or you to what is right lest you may learn that nothing matters to life which you may cherish or despise and to death which merely continues this plight No future is real and the past slips away, not wanting to be remembered or relived, not holding onto you nor letting you hold it as you are perpetually thrown into nothingness and then let to grasp at something yet that something never enables you to quit Constant scurrying with nowhere to go is the empty fate which befalls us all and holds us in the wake of endless questing after truths that lose their importance as easily and as often as we lose our lives without diminishing our spirit's vesting Mortal Rectitude Pushing ever towards the end we reach out for the newest and latest and we receive them yet again never doubting the relevancy or immediatcy of evolution Seeing ourselves decay and knowing our governments and systems, our attempts to keep change at bay, condemn us to see that our lives and ritual actions are institutions Doomed to eventual obscurity we struggle to achieve eternal importance lest we become forgotten history always believing that to be remembered is to live, an absolution Pegged into the fold, locked into a slice of eternal time chained to life fading and old ever acknowledging neither acceptance nor denial is resolution Affinity Out from the pool of miracles we come as tiny sparkles of light glisten off our wet bodies By the enchanted pool we make ourselves homes due to the abundance of life beneath its shimmering surface We drink in its nectar which not only sustains us but also revitalizes us for we are what it is Within this pool lie the unborn young waiting for us to come in to bring them out When our time comes we return to pool and dissolve into it helping to keep it full Centricity I see myself in the center of a ball that is spinning around, never colliding with another and never striking any ground The rotation continuously gains speed until the mass of myself becomes lost as my identity fuses with the incessant motion while my trepidations lose hold and get tossed I now see the universe not as a thing but as a set of intercontingent motions which sense each other through vibrations felt though empty spaces living ocean An order arises around my spinning as I fulfill that pattern surrounding me completing the formation of a new ball with each part intrinsic to its destiny Life (again.) Life, it is a game and a dream It is everything and nothing and something in between It is reality and fantasy, logical and magical, superficial deep in mystery It is both a test and a plan for being and believing and for choosing as best you can It also is a race but the first and last both share the first place It is a nursery rhyme, beautiful and simple and made for simple minds Time again Never is ever ever enough for life itself is in the extreme surpassing itself time and time again for that it is and for that must it always be as this or that comes to rule each moment becoming that time while chaos itself reigns supreme for all that may no matter what, no matter when must bow to this Time becomes time again defining itself anew each resurgent light as all of creation falls down to this until it was and then never again would it, could it be paved over by insatiable lust for life driving those others over that which drove it seeking to become that moment, become that life which by turns gives life and feeds off of it living by giving what does In Ignorance In ignorance I look to the sky sensing some higher order, some higher mind as yet unknownst to me so I pass it by enjoying peace and pleasure and like in kind for place untold cannot bind In ignorance I live each day without fear oblivious to death omnipresently everywhere in each potently deadly soul be they far or be they near for life and death and consequence we each share needing to be needing, being to dare So life leave to mystery and to death leave the facts so cold and unchanging written in black upon black for living is standing with the truth to our backs facing the yet-to-be true, the ever changing track surmounting the known with each little act Thinking meaning existed then, or when, or ever we see ourselves as lost and forever wandering blind yet to see truth as evolving becoming full truly never is to accept ignorance as a fact, a mean state of mind knowing all knowing soon succumbs to time maelstroms leading up Rites of Passage Whereupon passing from one such place, stage, or happenstance to another of a dissimilar like the payment must be rendered at the passing of the gate which separates thus from then When the payments be solid as gold, currency, or valuables, they matter none the more than when the charges be those which cannot be weighed nor counted nor easily judged Most often the toll is extracted from the treasure trove of ideals guarding one from dogmatic pestilence of bitter aversion to optimistic aims thus reducing our fated immunities to the entwining tentacles of despair The fees be not too expensive or harsh upon the travelers of moving time and each debit paid becomes a badge marking ones worthiness to stand toe to toe with those who've felt the fury of the maelstroms leading up to heaven Landmarks Left By Ahead is another landmark by which to frame off another section of my hectic endless journey between the here and now and the there and then along life's lonesome highway The terrain and scenery changes by not nearly so often or as drastically as I myself become changed by each new turn and each new fact learned as I bridge the greatest divide Another set of useless baggage gets thrown off by the wayside as I shed my skin like some odious reptile eager to leave the past for the uncertainty tomorrows bring A brand new version of me will relegate all that I am now to the past pages of time for I shall not remember nor engage in the pursuit of ambitions which meant everything to me Chasten Not I Look long into the face of relentless change in moving clouds above, the volatile seas surrounding us, and in the shifting sands beneath our feet Look long for looking is living and living is learning to sort out the pieces we choose to build up ourselves from fragments of the past Turbulence comes to us through the cracks of the fortresses we build to capture one moment in time until we can comprehend it or ourselves Our only solace for comfort is born within ourselves out of a need to remain and be steadfast that we are somehow one step above the fray A Moment's Peace In the dim afterglow of a fiery sunset a small child sits quietly on a sandy beach staring at the last traces of warm colors to reflect off the water's static surface The light fades to a dim hazy blanket settling comfortably down upon the horizon and the patient watcher of celestial events counts the stars as they suddenly appear A slight onshore breeze begins to stir bringing the youngster relief from the humid air, thick with the sticky feel of salty moisture that comes with the burning days of August As the nights coolness envelops the shore, the tired child slowly begins the trek home trying hard to savor the last days of summer and vowing to stay at peace in a frantic world Distance Closes In Distance closes in and horizons once seemingly endless become known, and being known, uninteresting as the playpen to the room, the room to the yard, the yard to the street, ad infinitum The planet, being known thus becomes to small to frame us so we search out new limits to our view and overlook the unknowns at home in our cities, our streets, in our peoples, and in ourselves Infinity itself collapses under the weight of impressive stares as if to say what else can I do, what more can I give and we ourselves, not knowing, merely shrug and walk away saying we only thought there'd be more In My Prime I see myself in my minds eye in my youth stout and strong and in my prime too untamed and too untried not to think that all the world could be bent towards my will by my pride Wary now, I seldom wander to find fulfillment of futile goals lying ever yonder yet in my heart and in my dreams I am still a fool eagerly awaiting opportunity to cast away my wisdom if sorrow it means Is ignorance bliss, I wonder debating whether incremental time is some cosmic blunder for when age brings us aquiessence for lessening roles in lesser amibitions we still believe we are more and have more as we lose faith in our essence Less than Whole Tragic are the taming events as when the brain asks for actions which the body can no longer deliver Such sorrows be blessed upon they who have conquered much greater foes only to succumb to time's revenge The brain is not removed from this embarrassing loss of sinew once life demands more than its dwindling capacities Loss is supposedly a gain in disguise but how do we understand losses when they are in us and our abilities to reason Bittersweet is the facility to remember as nature robs us of loves and joys yet lets us continue to mourn their passing though who among us would wish to lose our memories if not our mortal selves if we could keep but one or the other What was then Looking back on life who'd have ever thought that I would be to say what it was if I am not now that the fullest sense of me exists not or in some other way Was it really real I feel I cannot know if I am to be what I've become and master this new means to grow as unfamiliar to me as I to myself wondering if my past and future can live as one Can meaning exist without facts for those facts upon which I have relied to tell me what and who I've been exist not to me now if ever they lived and died and if they never lived at all, then neither did I yet somehow I am and maybe though not in me, in somone them sounds of our love's song As it is As light as a feather that flutters to and fro fancifully upon the slightest breeze As strong as the feeling of futility at the suppression of an undeniably growing sneeze As warm as the color of a blazing crimson sun on a pale morning sky As safe as a prison or the painted sanctuaries in which we all shall lie As indefinable as the moment in which we finally come to know and love ourselves As rich as the body and soul of mother earth which gives but never sells As these and so much else, so is my love for you and so shall be forever more As easy as it is to say it is far the more difficult to feel all is real and I am yours Absence, Presence, and Promise Fulfilled Without love I am free to cultivate hate without fear of any unseemly contradiction to drive me to purge either one or the other With love I may love just a few without need to share that love with all or justify loving anyone better or more Within love there is the hope I may live without seeing anyone in my heart clearer than anyone else who is no less worthy of the same Once Bitten There is a bittersweet fruit that once it has been bitten overpowers you with its flavor and by its nectar you are smitten You lose to it your will as it holds you in its rapture and you do not mind that your soul it did capture It caresses you with joy but its absence causes you pain It creates a need in you that with you will forever remain It is not a poison nor is it any drug but it is just as deadly for it is called love Four-leafed Clovers To errantcy, be human to forgiveness, be divinity for my soul yearns only for your soul's proximity as laughs and our laughter playfully bubble over alighting gently upon two four-leafed clovers soon to be near and yet oh too soon to be gone, tearfully bidding adieu to the last ringing of the gong and riding out the waves to the sounds of our love's song sung to the meadows and the trees answered only by the rustling of leaves Rememberance As I lay down to sleep I pray this memory I shall always keep of you with me now in my time in my world, in my soul, and in my mind for though we must continue to change I hope to keep a piece of this treasure of pleasure brought by loving you to me with me always, even in my darkest hour when my body lies cold, bled dry of feeling and power, for if I have but this memory of you I will still have love and joy and peace and light and a little slice of the best time in my life A Single Rose For want of a rose I walk through a garden filled with lush deep green foliage and brilliantly bursting flowers so overwhelmingly beautiful I am bedazzled through and through Petunias and marigolds abound along with a rainbow of tulips opening themselves to the morning and me yet not a single rose is there to meet me or to greet me or adorn my tattered clothes The beauty of the garden is not lost on such a fool as me as I revel in the blossoming life and partake in communion with the beauty not allowing myself to regret the absence of a single rose I found my soul I found my soul only to find you had been there first You had stolen it and left a note which said 'I love you' I searched for you but instead I found myself It is in needing you that I am, and I want to be We once touched We once touched in another time in another world we left behind We laughed and loved in that magical place warm like the stars in the coldness of space We shared time and we shared ourselves ringing in harmony like musical bells We were two together as one blissfully ignorant and having fun Goodbyes A tender kiss a long goodbye, two loving hearts care not why To be apart means despair, for them its almost too much to bear They wear smiles as they bid farewell but their hearts know what words can't tell The bond stretches but inevitably breaks into the sorrow that parting makes To Be You What is it like to be you, to see life as you do Can you feel the light that lies behind your sight, behind your eyes of green and blue What thoughts fill your mind to help you pass the time Do you dream of pleasant things, of soaring on crescent-shaped wings to far away places that I might find What is it like to see me, to see only what you wish to see If only you could show the me you've come to know I might learn a better me to be I wish that somehow I knew the dreams that you want to come true, the dreams that you never tell and keep deep inside yourself, how I wish that I could share them too Give Me Love Give me love, give me life and tenderness for you are the bread of my soul and the source of my survival Touch me again, caress me through the night for actions forestage the emotions which have brought us together again Leave me reeling afar in passion's resilient passing as you turn away to face me scattering my awareness wide In the lingering afterglow of our sensual facilitations, feed me the true sustenance of love of life and me of life and truth and fate and lies The Long Journey I met a weary traveler as the day was nearing its end I asked him if he traveled far but he couldn't remember from where or when All that he knew was he'd been traveling and come tomorrow he'd be traveling still He did not know where or why he was going but he knew he had a need his journey would fulfill I was curious that he carried no baggage so I asked him why he chose to travel so light He told me he had no need of possessions To keep them, said he, one must be prepared to fight I walked with him for a short time and asked if he knew when his journey would be through He said that it would end where he ends at that time when there is nothing more he can do It grew late and I took my leave of him for there were people who would soon miss me I had realized while I was walking home though I never travel, I am on the same journey as he The Wayfarer Torn and tattered were his clothes and his face, like a well worn overgrown trail, inspired polite respect with a twinge of fear in the people whom he passed as his soul set sail to find some wondrous place to finally rest and upon that day he felt it drawing ever near It was the fourteenth day of December when his feet first carried him into the town where he would meet the strangest of fates and revel in the wake of the unseen forces that abound between the reality of day and the darkness of night which draw one unknowingly into the eeriest of states In an little old inn on the edge of town the wayfarer stopped for warmth and a drink but this was no ordinary inn as he soon found out for the innkeeper had devious eyes which would wink whenever the wayfarer thought something was strange and the walls themselves seemed to scream or shout Intrigued by the strangeness of the place the daring traveler decided to stay the night but after making a quick check of his room his eyes caught flash of a hideous sight of a wolf standing bloodied over a mutilated body and when the brief vision ended, he felt impending doom Hurriedly, he splashed his face wet in a water basin at the end of the hall, his heart racing at the marvel he had seen driving him to take some action or to call for help from some sorcerer, demon, or god to help him vanquish this terrible dream Once again in the inn's tavern he instead chose food to regain his composition for he felt that he would need all his senses to do battle with the demonic apparition that lay waiting for him in his room yet also in some other world behind unseen fences He felt its presence even then as he ate in an attempt to gain strength, he felt it chiding to him to run while he could but he did not listen to it at any length, just long enough to know it was still there and that if it could destroy him it surely would The man at the bar let out a laugh that sounded as deranged as its meaning was obscure but before he left the room in a frenzied delight he had pointed to the wayfarer sitting demure and said nothing though the meaning became clear in that he was a fool for not feeling proper fright Alone in the room of the wolf he sat expectantly upon a wooden chair and with his gun at his side and knife in hand he waited for something or someone to be there but though the feeling grew ever more intense nothing appeared that he could see or understand Soon he began to grow tired yet the more that he gave into this tide the more invigorated he felt himself become until he lay wide awake on the other side where the wolf lay waiting in a field of green and the light of the moon was now the sun He stood up and gave chase to the wolf although he was no longer certain why for this world was certainly not like his own as it had orange plants and a bright pink sky and as he grew nearer to the fleeing wolf he realized it was unlike any he had known The ominous hatred and venomance which he had sensed back at the inn no longer was present in this strange new place though still he felt driven to purge this sin, this horrible abomination incarnate in the wolf seeming so near that he could sense its foul taste Then the wolf grew tired at last and turned to face the wayfarer's approach yet it did not show any sign of fear nor did it turn hostile when he drew close, instead it quietly awaited its impending fate as the hunter flung himself at it like a spear The wayfarer's confusion grew still when the wolf seemed to vanish in the air but the feelings still had hold of him and as he fled across the plains in despair he noticed that his body had disappeared while he ran within the wolf's own skin Over the next hill he came across a man whom he vaguely noticed was himself and as the man began to shudder back the man-wolf felt the fear rise in itself growing stronger until both were one at the moment its teeth gnashed open his neck Screaming, the man was again in the room far too shaken to think of anything's meaning as he packed his things and hurried away into the darkness of that fateful evening when worlds collided for one man never known except for the footprints in the snow never shown The Executioner The moment of truth appeared within the blink of an eye as I solemnly raised my gun before my quavering victim The Executioner of Justice is the name I chose long ago and that far off day gone by is suddenly thrust before my eyes Was it my passion for life or some perverse taste for death that made me love the work which came to dominate my life This kill will not come easy and this face before me shall not be quietly put to rest in my tortured silent nights This time I cannot believe that this tragedy is just and the innocent eyes before me reflect the truth of my task Countless times before I could have questioned but instead I chose to remain ignorant of the manipulations of the halls of justice that determine who shall live or die This time it was too blatant, an example to be made, a statement of brutal blindness to keep the rank and file in line Right and wrong are dissolving in my long inactive mind and the fresh wind that blows is filled with condemnation My hand begins to violently shake and the gun grows heavy within as if the weight of my deeds are now alive in my instrument of death An explosive turmoil erupts within as I am faced with countless questions of life and truth and fate and lies and of my own inevitable demise The forces ripping me apart are great but the solution is so near and easy and in an instant later it is over as the echoes of the shot die in the air My eyes grow dim and my heart heavy as I watch the body hit the floor and I convince myself I will survive the haunting truth my soul had seen Cauldron of Fontaine In medieval days of nightmarish lore when the unspeakable occurred far too often for any to keep score there was a abomination vested upon a town which knows no fame save for being the birthplace of the Cauldron of Fontaine Made from the iron of thirty swords that took the souls of scores of men the blackened pot would feed the hoards of those who served the darkness and reveled in the terror vexed upon Man, taking great pleasure from each atrocity their demonic leader would command The deeds of this troupe defy telling without disturbing the sensibilities of those who find righteousness compelling so it should suffice for me to say that the results of their debauchery boiled in an evil mixture in that cauldron as the dignity of humanity was forever soiled The village once known as Fontaine was peaceful before those days, before the devil called Raven came in a firestorm of reckless abandon asking for followers to seize the day, to profit from the confusion, to take all and make heaven pay In desperate times such as these men were all too willing to follow one who did as he pleased fearing neither the wrath of God nor the formidable armies of kings that were heralding forth another age for which chivalry valiantly sings Twisted was Raven's maniacal mind bent upon a life everlasting and so unrelenting was he to find the key to achieving this hopeless dream that he dared leave no stone unturned until immortality was his prize and its secrets were at last learned Fools always follow where greed leads and in those days of long ago that road was known as alchemy, where science and mysticism joined and produced a mutated child which died attempting to tame a world where blind instinct ran wild Raven was convinced that this was the way that he could at last be immortal and forever postpone his judgment day so the dreaded cauldron was conceived to concoct that elixir of eternal life made from the fluids of life and death taken ceremoniously with a lethal knife Blood flowed endlessly for years hence as more villagers became convinced that the Angel of Death could now be fenced leaving them free to live lives of lust without fear of any final hereafter until one by one they all met the blade to the tune of Raven's menacing laughter Decrepit and fast turning gray, Raven realized his failure far too late as he too lived to see the day when he was chosen as a sacrifice to feed the younger who gained claim upon his legacy of unbridled brutality justly giving him taste of the same Though they all now wear death's chains, as a monument to those dark days an undistinguished black pot still remains for on a museum shelf behind a glass case sits the Cauldron of Fontaine as a relic from another world achieving Raven's pitiful aim Once A King "I am King!", I bellow until the sound echoes off the somber castle walls Filled to the brim with wine and self-adoneration I stumble away in search of a bed The music of lutes plays somewhere off beyond my blurred candlelit vision Behind the merriment and muse lie the whispered treasons of the endless plotting for my throne Surrounded by guards, I pause to relieve myself of the evenings excessive liquids Quickly the dampness, cold like death, encompasses every pore of my regal being In a cathedral-sized room covered with fine tapestries I pass out upon a silken bed Soon however, I am abruptly awakened by the feel of cold steel on my brow Alone and in a drunken stupor I face my opponent knowing full well the futility of a plea Young and foolish, and every bit as arrogant as me he savors the taste of the kill In an act of desperation I grab at his knife but soon it is free, then in my stomach As I lay helplessly dying within my fortress I know security is but a dream to make a sound or stir Contemplating Freedom Wondering where wistfulness went my mind briefly yet sagaciously moves to a time when I thought not of myself before doing and maybe, before being letting not preconception deny experience Why is it now inconceivable to me to stand naked on the roof beneath the stars, to run gaily through the feilds rolling with life and not think myself an ass for loving life so much as to engage in harmless foolish fun Where what becomes what for and why not why is where who I have come to be has since lost me in the trees whose protective leaves let no one see the boy inside the man, the girl behind the woman, loving what little sponataity we're still graciously allowed The constraints are mine to have or have not and respect the invisible instigation to keep hold, to keep in check that urge to burst out laughing whenever we feel we've stepped into the absurd yet absurdity lies at the heart of all around us only now sorrow has replaced the joy Fears of finding out Fear drives one away from the mirror, fear of looking too deeply at bare facts fate has dealt under pain of death, fear of seeing what lies beneath us is only fear of seeing nothing at all Catch a glimpse of yourself as you hurry off to nothing important and you struggle to gather worthless items valued only by those who feel incomplete insatiably grabbing all anyone else wants Fears of not having what others have, fear of not gaining what is prized most, this is what ascribes the dictates of beings who hoard everything to feel they have something other than the emptiness which devours their souls Fighting the listlessness contriteness makes we strike back by attacking those we know who share the same circumstances we endure cowardly yet they have the gall to appear contented so we destroy them to destroy ourselves The Haunting As I gaze at the reflections dancing across the surface of one of nature's many shallow pools, I feel as though I am looking at the ghosts from another time At the touch of my hand they scatter only to once again reappear as the waves slowly begin to quell and they reveal to me their stories for they know I need to hear them But these faces that do haunt me are not of strangers of long ago nor are their tales unfamiliar for they are the different ages of me and their dreams that did not survive They are in pools of rain and window panes and they will follow wherever I go until the day when I take them back if ever I decide to again be whole and no longer bar them from my soul I cannot see me I cannot see me I can stare into a mirror but only a stranger stares me back sharing a face like mine yet isn't me I cannot hear me when I speak of what I believe trying my damnedest to make a sound or stir to break the grip of fates upon me or the silence of eternity I cannot feel me I cannot even feel what is me body or spirit, both always elude me leaving me to wonder why only I am not even given me I cannot know me I cannot know what I am or will be for what I am will only be shown long hence the last light these eyes shall see and I, a mere memory My Mind is Free My mind is free and though this world may damn me and cage me no one shall ever destroy these new horizons I see Free at last to roam free of fences that bind all others to the past out of fear to know their souls and the implications awareness casts Never again shall I be confined by convention or walk the line of socio-moral lies for I have seen the open fields where spontaneity needs never die Enjoy your solemn walls for the false security they bring by closing your mind off from the calls of dying ideas and crippled dreams suffocating in cloistered halls Once is Me Once is me yet I am every time close at hand Over and under, above is below Neither I am, neither I know Yet and then, both are now Never was I, only how Once is me, more is less falling away from the crest Starry-eyed and Boisterous Starry-eyed and boisterous I soar higher than my imagination flies eagerly meeting heavenly surprises before my tottering rationale and reasonings are again able to catch up to me Without a net I glide ever higher without fear of ever again falling below for fall I shall and fall I shall soon as no bird or man can escape the dirt which commands thee and me to return home Plummeting is the only return left for me as I have been away too long to long retain the life of those bound to the ground solid and stoid yet not without its advantages such as never going beyond reaching safe returns So soar I shall in my final few days forever reaching after what is and isn't there in the mists of clouds of mystery and wonder rolling over the world that was never really mine as seen from above in bewilderment and awe to question why Our Legacy of Lethargy We live beyond our means and ponder this facts significance as we anesthetize ourselves upon computer simulated dreams, living a life of decadence defiantly brandishing our death song We are the highest form of civilization outnumbered by the rest of a dying humanity that languish in shanty towns feeding off trash as we grow fat in a cultural stagnation that cannot confront this abominable insanity dealt to us by those in a long irrelevant past Our toils are but few yet our needs and lusts are many as we feed off the carcass of morality stripping bare whatever is in view, killing those without even a penny and reveling in our own banality With a cannibalistic fervent we exploit the desperation of the masses fighting for resources long since dried by generations whose resources recklessly spent always gave priority to the upper classes which gained ground while the rest slowly died They were the ones who begot us as we inherited their wealth and brutality along with a wasted and worthless planet that shall soon be ground into dust so we earnestly accelerate this harsh reality and rape the few resources left without regret To Wit Yea, how the tables become turned by the clever ones deftly defying criticism for the abuses or misuses of their powers by exalting the common man who succeeded in helping others near or during their rein thus 'proving' that goodness always flourishes and those who cannot see it are blind Shies, the contemptuous praises be as the praiseworthy are owed their acclamation to the very perpatrators whose life long wrongs they sought with their very lives to undue, fated to have the enemies of their passions eulogize to all their struggles and erst putting it in a perspective void of truth Better they be not to be named or known than to have their virtues so valiently to be sung when hence the very meanings they bestow become tangled in minds by subversive retellings and having their chaste deeds done for good and all used to make good men doubt their own good will removing aspersions aimed at more obvious targets Outgrown Innocence Damned are they who damn us thus wreaking havoc on our tranquil worlds destroying the lives and the minds of all those who cannot successfully oppose or accept them while making us who can and do accept them share the guilt of their bloody deeds Standing still, looking the other way, busying ourselves with our lives and children, none of these things can absolve us of the perpetuation of injustice and brutal viciousness inherent in every facet of our 'peaceful' societies for each part makes possible each attrocity Suvival but at what cost we wonder while each day learning how high that cost climbs for knowledge brings only more responsibilties to be shunned if we are to continue on and prosper in an ever more arid and poisonous environment killing all those whose lives possess real value Death of a Child A child died quietly in the hollow of the night A child died naturally though it cannot be right The child's illness was one which could easily be cured The child's silent aspirations now shall never be heard Accomplices were they who did not know of his plight Accomplices were they who knew but averted their sight Defiled are they who thought helping strangers an impropriety Defiled are they who honor such an insane society Over and over again this story shall be told Over and over again they shall die as we grow old Each time this happens we lose more of our worth Each time this happens we blacken the legacy of Earth Automatons Man or machine, that is the question which remains to be seen Shielded by uniforms, we lash out beating and killing those who are our own brethren as we convince ourselves we have given up all rights to question why We poison and maim, all the while believing we are not to blame Behind desks and thick glass, we protect our jobs by following mindless regulations often hearing pleas from those that they destroy, sympathizing yet never helping Part of the system, we fail to rise above the limits of its questionable wisdom Filling the functions of some prepackaged lives we lose sight of needed changes and by identifying ourselves with socially programmed desires, we become something less than human The Eternal Yoke Upon the backs of the wretched mobs we build our cities, crushing them beneath the treadmill of progress giving to the chosen few and forgiving to none Tradition ever supports the eternal yoke of oppression leaving only the faces changed backed by those slogans which best fit the time or mood and give the people the means with which to hang themselves The tide of time bears not any mercy for the drowning swept away by the flood of relentless subjugation of a race which once was free before the wealthy and the learned defined what freedom meant Sword of the Slight Outside of the mainstream the ship of my soul drifts slowly away cast out upon the uncharted seas of isolation and unmet needs, cast out only for being different by being deficient in an aesthetic way carrying a face doomed only to displease No one speaks of it, of my incarcerating disfigurement which inevitably will draw their eyes as I invade the confines of the sight of the people in a picture perfect world grown accustomed to uniformity as enforced by the sword of the slight They smile as they turn away and say they are sorry but no, they do not think that I am the right one to suit their needs or to be of any help while continuing the unspoken catharsis of the submersion of the unseemly who cannot by numbers defend themselves Living the life of a pariah is a harrowing yet illuminating way to be as you see a great fear hidden safely away, a fear of ugliness or of imperfection in people too immersed in superficiality to know or care deeply for the minds within and blind to prejudice's subtlest manifestation Conscientious Objectors I care not for your battles against ignorance, injustice, or Man Leave your wars outside my doorstep for I disdain the ideals you command It is not for me to make the world fit any notions that I conceive it should be freedom needs not to be fought for nor can it be won by you for me All shall always do as they see fit and nothing for me is the best choice I seek not to encumber or enlighten nor to exaggerate the import of my voice Those who seek to emancipate all instead come to enslave as a consequence To force any agendas through intimidation is to doom its intents to irrelevance So waste not your inscenuous words on me for I have outgrown need to promulgate airs I limit my ambitions to only myself and I leave others be to cultivate theirs the indomitable straits of time Motions Passing Motions passing, no one's asking how it all could be Days ending, new ones pending flowing eternally Onward time, leaving all behind never letting them be known Only facts, leaving no tracks except visions once shown Empty places, last embraces wanting to stay real Everything cries, its disguise breaks with fate's last seal Eclipsed The motions of the universe, so damningly precise and congruent mark the seasons of my life upon an eternal timepiece created by the spinnings of stars and mimiced by our watches gears But what of me, I shout letting my frustrations spill out to become absorbed by the blackness of the peaceful autumn sky which never breaks its stony silence to comfort or admonish me Left to wonder or to die by divine providence or cruelty I stand alone too empty to cry for everyone and for myself fated to be kept from understanding the purpose behind their pains In conquest or perhaps resignation I tune out the vastness before me as I slip further into unconsciousness falling asleep under a cloudless sky for the indomitable straits of time bind enough to destroy my hopes of understanding Momentous Moments Realizations so elusive as to be separated by many years stand apart from the doldrums and ritual interpersonal actions rising foremost in our minds upon regarding the self Pivotal decisions of worth or comprehensions of purpose count the most within our hearts breeding the colors which taint the world with our perceptions making appearances real Momentous moments of life sandwiched deep within the shuffle force us out of our complacencies of acceptance and limit our joy of partaking in the festiveness before providing the feast Moments of Repatriation There comes a time in everyone's lives when we cease to press on forward and then pause to take our bearing on where we are or where we are going The motions of the universe appear to halt and our very existences seem to hang in limbo while our minds take stock of our intentions and compare them with our lives thus far Out of the world and deep within ourselves we weigh the benefits and risks of returning yet we gain precious momentum by confronting the true desires we have for our lives As suddenly as it stopped, life starts again and the wheels of the world again turn pushing us on towards our destinations somewhat wiser and more self-aware In Unison We remember things which have never been if we live long enough to see life repeat again thus shattering our illusions of perpetual freshness in that a limitless number of nows are begun as we pass from one to another just begun only to find that both ring out in unison Infinity is finite and randomness predictable, for just as the mind finds the unknowable irresistible we break the facade of the indefinitive world merely by using the means of our memories to eventually come to see that spacious duplication is the key masking the underlying yet undeniable uniformity Originality is but a hopeless and arrogant dream as countless lives verbatim repeat the scenes that we dare to call our own and hold dear for that which is us is merely a stone randomly thrown and standing alone yet existing nowhere to be known Prismic An indomitable ray of hope and fulfillment passes through the prism of time spreading wide a multitude of individualizations painting the mural of life in its prime Colors which are pleasing to the heart stand contrasting and complementing those that unnerve for each part's beauty never seeks to overpower the incomprehensibly vast mosaic they serve Images of all that we know of or dream float fancifully reflected in a panorama of space playing nightly to a captive audience unseen trying their best to savor a feast they cannot taste The brilliance of the light cannot be known as it far surpasses that which can be seen and the mysterious refractor defies definitions, not to diminish the wondrous pictures that gleam Waiting Waiting for the perfect moment when all of the stars align and rapture lies only just behind that moment creeping up slowly from the soul up into the mind Waiting while thousands pass before you though you are blind seeing only what is yet to come, seeing only that some-other time which you might never live to find Waiting while wondering why you wait to live but not to die leaving all of the living left behind walking through today seeing only tomorrow with yesterday's dreams still driving your eyes Waiting without even knowing or knowing but not caring, you die each day a thousand deaths, a thousand lies for perfection lay in each hour, each minute with only your conception of it to give it its disguise Tomorrow Tomorrow I shall awake to the dawn of a brand new day unseen, unknown to any who live today and think and dream and believe that they know what with it will come or may as I too asleep to it still yet hail its new way and dare embrace, to touch, to taste in haste that which casts today away for the sake of forsaking this day that stays too long making me gaze longingly at unseen days and praise that which may bring only greater pains, to chance to lose, yes, but to chance to gain, is twice but chance to lose more of the same on into the sunset The Dark Horse Built like a mighty fortress, the dark horse rides asunder with its giant hooves tearing up the ground, making sounds like rolling thunder Relentlessly it surges forth like a vengeful demon of the night making all bear witness to its unbridled fury and its overwhelming sense of might Bound by the truth of existence and binded to an earth dominated by Man, it searches for escape the only way that it knows, by running as far and as fast as it can Running to every corner of the land, one and all will sometimes hear it as it thunders past seeking limitless pastures and freedom for its restless spirit Excelsior One by one I shall cut the ties which will bind me to the ground and I shall feel the pull of the heavens begging me to rise forth and come hither I shall sit in the comfort of my airship and watch the world fall beneath my feet while setting my gaze upon a far larger world whereupon the distant and unrelated become one As I look down from my celestial throne and revel at the expansiveness of my new sight I shall carry with me the hopes of the spoiled and the damned, as they bow before me longing to be set free Over boarders and barriers I shall drift away in my craft crowned by heat and golden sunlight and as countries and continents fade to a distant blur I shall learn true freedom at the mercy of destiny's winds Crystal Castles I live beneath crystal castles in the sky Castles waiting for me until the day when I can fly They are beautiful, too beautiful to be seen Instead you feel them in your heart and in your dreams Castles of wonder too magnificent to describe With towers of hope to make your soul come alive They fly high above us yet they are always in our reach Only love can take us there, love we can learn but never teach Lexicon Everyone anxiously jumps upon an antique train called Lexicon riding forth steadily toward the sun carrying all and sparing no one Out from the multitude of paths it surges forth leaving all else past accommodating all wherever they need go and showing them places only others know Those who are hurried share space with those who care not for a frantic pace as they sit together riding the same line, both reaching their destinations on time It brings together all and lets them share each other's truths and each other's cares as they enjoy the ride in comfort and style becoming closer with each passing mile On into the sunset Lexicon rides and at each stop its prominence presides as each young generation climbs on board eager to know the perspectives it moves them towards