He screams to the heavens, for invisible militias to decimate the berserkers of the mind; Postulating to the pagan voice, ferreting for a life long forsaken, grasping the inevitable, but leaving a tethered string, to allow an unraveling to return the flesh unto this gavel trampled deep….and yet
I wonder why,
His cries, his tears,
Never adorned the
Thoughts of a Deity
That could have saved…
Brooding boy, beg not
for your appearance turns sour when you do
Is the disease so great you can’t alleviate the thrashing within?
Is there not, in your position, an analgesic for such wrathful whims?
Can you bear not the
Grimacing toil of youth, for it is in truth; when I relay how you were not the first, to suffer as you feel…does that allay your fear?
Does this expel your quorum’s spell—
Will this quell the quivering abrasions that estrange you deep within?
Does it bend/Will it blend?
Can it purge/Can it make you chaste again?
Will you hunt the haunt that hinders you with inanity?
Will you blossom to the foul fragrances of a rancor smoke’s uncloaked?
Does it make the slightest inch of placation…will it assist you in rebuilding the dynasty that could have been…if not, for the misfortunes of your house of sin?
Do you even understand the voice in which I speak? Can you focus upon my presence now? You flail your arms as madmen may, you writhe double-clutched, biting deep into the upturned soil where last you sat…what, tell me what, am I to make of this? Was I proscribed to an anomaly or a incurable decree? Tell me, for my abilities have grown worn, the hornets nest is building, soon shall it flinch forward the deadliest yet of swarms and all the while, I mean no insensitivities toward your plight, but I cannot understand the warped sensibilities that dwell deeply through you now…and, I fear, I shall fail you and my master both…then, tell me, what shall I report at such a time?
I slap you but you smile, I surmise a beating would cause you much joy in such a senseless state. The longer I harbor your companion; I fear lost as well I shall submit?
I scream yet I wonder if my range you can even hear. At times your reactions indicates a cognizant being still writhes within, but at others, I fear it is but a barely moving corpse presiding that space, occupied, yet somewhere other than here.
I turn the vultures away from their feast, yet as sun’s fall and the sands rise in blistering gales beneath the sky, I fear, their meal is near at hand, and it may not be, he, that they await?
Our journey is lingering, I have nothing to report, his condition remains as it had, yet, I cannot be positive in such determinations, for I fear I am not the same as I was previously…I notice a failing of faculties…seemingly each week another is removed…and although we approach you now, the effort is far greater than the years spent in sacrifice….each day’s progress, is quickly covered by tomorrow’s sands…
The hallucinations are the strongest they’ve been, I consistently imagine we are not in the realm we first arrived, yet have strayed into some hourglass, where only the shifting dunes remind us of the hours remaining…
The accounts about oasis’ are factual…
I am now communicating fully with our friend…and his pain has transformed me into a creature that understands his own…hope is lost, at least for me, he seems to have regained his sacristy….he tends to me as we speak…if only a caravan should approach…I am, in desperate need of an anodyne to dissipate this remorse… for this, this all, is but the poetry of the sleep.
As a loud clanging rhythm
wrinkles the smooth
beneath your eye’s