Bathsheba the Morning After (Pull Me Under)


My wrist uplifted, sliced in light with a blade of dawn, my conscience tender, human filled with defilement from my slumber. The night, the dragons, the fears where daemons cry. My weakness before sunrise, in thoughts, a failure in darkness, the thorns that made love cry. No psalm right now, my creator before me, indigenous shame beneath dry sky. Pull me under, lest I kill me, your judgment before me, these sprites inside me, lost from grace inwardly misplaced. My mind a warrior, my soul a prophet, now ruined in shadows, unreasonable in its passion, my spear inside me. I am pulled under, spinning before your face.

Pull me under, with skin that falters within the moment, in moonlight, Azazel in passion with lips before me, a fire of wonder that marks me blind. In sighs, in minutes my spirit insipid, a man her other, my destiny, forgotten, this light of a new day, another I called out, and by a summoned, a clay filled pact, by that familiar did Uriah stumble and die. Opened now by my eastern window, noise, and divisions in diver’s places, this sorcery unending, ethereal and wicked. By my eye, I have traded compassion to another, in this coldness, I am pulled under, spinning before your face.

Bane of a tempter, that lightning that thrills me, her body in water that judgment controls. Pull me under, that morning might not find me, these covers in kisses of rapture, these whispers of soul. This light how it burns me, and makes my heart quiver, this place by my window, where your flesh has called me wait. A deception, a strange essence I have captured, an infamy now held forever, these acts now behind me, I am pulled under while I awake.

 

David (מַּלְכוּת)
awoke on the first day after the darkness was gone, alone a murderer and an adulterer, separated from the light, all predestined and a part of a strange and balanced plan. – דָּנִיֵּאל 04/10/2014

3 AM – The First Psalm

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I will write no more unless you love me, my eyes will no longer shine.  In the rain when the grey turns to white you will no longer say G-d cries.  I will kiss without feeling if you refuse to flatter me, for it is all I require.  Some host they ask for gifts of tongues I seek only your affection and careful praise when you are tired.

Your walls they have grown haughty with possessions and reverberation of noise.  Your sacrifices have turned like melted sourness your posture lacking poise.  You do not listen, when you walk, your lowered eyes negate my voice.  You lament crimes of other shadows, without seeing you miss the symphony of uttered words.  Your strange answers have become over used.

I carry fire that burns without warming, my passion cold with ice.  The scales have weights of feathers, no balance you find worthy to try.  I will laugh without smiling if you do not speak to me, for without words you are not free.  Some crosses ask for blood without pleasure, I insist only upon your reflection in knowing that I am me.

Your wilderness in G-d forms your haunting, a second of time that’s not your own.  Your world has turned my spirit to stone.  You refuse to dream of children and harvest, you summon danger and torment you cannot control.  You wake without sleeping, you make blood without purpose, you seek to beckon law that is not corporeal, and cannot be released.

Yet until now so far

I am the quintessence of your need of legitimacy, my compassion spawned on a millennium of your storms.  I descend on your thorns.  I will bathe you in solitude, I will give you even more, for sorceries and oaths not spoken I will speak your light immortal where you feel blindness no more.  A wounded darkness has fallen I will see you bleed no more.

Your love in me is law unchanging, it cannot move on the tide or rhyme.  Your focus and calm in momentum must heal my fear of our divide.  You must know my magic before first light, and dance in my temple when the moon is bright.  Your forehead and knowledge are ever before me, you are given unfettered emanation the first psalm and now judged sight.

I awoke at 3:00 last night free judged and the first psalm like flame burned in me! – DS 12/17/13

Wonder of September

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Wonder of September, deep, striking Messiah glistens.  Fallen ice from the ledge where he watches waiting for his ethereal fall.  Strange air, blonde eyes judgment blue she pushes by.  Impatient craving knowledge she leaps.  Molten with banished hope he stands the sacrifice.  Days with lions he waits, by the wheels and machinations of Ezekiel he plays.  Choice of wisdom, paradigm of virtue he turns and faces G-d.  Vessels bound receiving, open eyelids giving he flows, reeling he falls, and beauty is risen.

The moon debases and mixes.  Imperfection has found the alchemy of wishes, he falls and fly’s with major chords of creation between his teeth.  Orchestrated knowledge melds together, with stars that glow, a soul for September immortal eyes that glisten with compassion.  Some things are meant for passion, rain before the snow.  Stranger still as cells are released at earth is the heat as Seraphim sing.  Days of ancient, blood of little kings, archetype of David, blessed of firmament this baby companion brings.

Shattered adjectives beyond description, summoned emanation, choice of colors in lightning he falls.  Across horizons his void, his balance gazes upon him, so cold in ice.  All is equal in September, captured earthward the lower and the upward release.  Concealed union, the moon is darkened, the cradle rocking with strong release.  The veil is spinning grown together, the map of chaos bequeaths this day.  Psalms of liquid, lost charms in strange tongues praising, the birth of wonder has come to pray.

Conjecture comes to witness, and then like a pale familiar it crawls away.  Solitude in wonder, Malkuth spans the kingdom where the child lays.  The esoteric rhythm, tree, and temple sheltered in consent by flesh.  Colorless dominions void of reflection, consciousness gathered by wondrous sight.  Air and existence, deep upon deep filled now with days.  Dancing flesh moving, through a glass now seen clearly, she who left before him now kisses his face.  The wonder of September is born in grace. – DS 12/07/2013

For my son Ryan who is the Wonder of SeptemberDS 12/07/2013