Face of Light

 

And on that first day, when I’m all alone, when I’m looking across heaven, not like in the movies, seeing those fake disco lights. On that first day, when all is left behind, when a new world is before me, and I’m half high.  Maybe dangerous, looking for what I might find. And all my life is wrapped in a simple shell, could be clam shaped or a Nautilus swell, I’d give anything to have those Magen angels bring me more sight. A high shift dreamer that takes me to the sky. On the last day, I’m a schemer, but the first day what’s this, I don’t cry. And what’s it like to live a dream, where dreams cannot fail, beyond the pale of breathing where the piper in a calm whisper, led me beyond tall tales. On the first day, I slip on my Nike’s, take a run through the edge of the sky, think I see that old black velvet, he for being dead and gone looks like a better man, the old hipster in me whispers now that’s out of sight.

And on the first day, I think I’m happy, traveling, seeing ghost in all of heaven’s wishing wells. No wooden sidewalks, no gold buildings, but there’s a wealth of snow. On the first day, I should be happy, I’m not in hell. If I get through the day, and then run through the night, I’ll do the first day again, and then, I’ll see the face of light. On the first day, when the wind has reached its conclusion and the soul has lost its fight. Maybe I’ll shake my fist, or hold it still at my side, it really doesn’t matter, for time has stopped, and the settlement is near.

And on the first day, I’ll turn to the right, and see the angels fly, some of them with dark wings, there’s a balance across all space, with what I find. If I get through the day and then run through the night, I’ll do the first day again, and then, I’ll see the face of light, the seething face of light. – 01.26.2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Ad Finem (Witches)


It waits so patient, some say so strong, it’s beauty a part of the terror of a song. A melody sung to a right minor key, sometimes hummed backwards, now those novice notes wait inward in me. Oh upwards G minor, and down to B flat, and somewhere a violin, without strings, well, there’s that. And just like at Salem, a witch that knows she’s dead, all I have to say to G_D is “I’m innocent of all that”.

Outside this door. At fifty-five, bored, I’m not fond of counting, that shadow waits for more, and in disguise that shade of gray that has death on its tongue, you see it’s a little secret, darkness, has no sex. That non feeling matter, that thought has assigned, that angel or devil, that Daemon divined. That secret of carrion, no respecter that comes when your dark shadows, play with you, while you drink some cheap rum. Time when fairness leaves you and Facebook is not real. You stand just at the end, and bugger that film reel. It’s not in digital stereo, it’s sixteen millimeters, and how you deal, with all the pops and sounds of how your life is whacked.

Well enough for covers of what I thought, that tomb of Jesus still stands sought, and after all this life and dreams I have to say. G_D, would you take me with all my fears, a stranger in darkness, on ever clear, an immature old man whose old and gray. Look at these shambles I think I am, this witch of a man, whose magic can, write him a song to the master-plan of grace. For I do adore, the after lore, of shadows and play, the left hand of G_D, that Ad Finem, who takes a witch to a greater place. It surprises me some of what could be, this place of greatness, in ecstasy, why is it we think, that death is the way, our world sets in place our days. It’s something that witches adore. Ad Finem when they open that desperate door.

It waits so patient, some say so strong, it’s beauty a part of the terror of a song. A melody sung to a right minor key, sometimes hummed backwards, now those novice notes wait inward in me. Oh upwards G minor, and down to B flat, and somewhere a violin, without strings, well, there’s that. And just like at Salem, a witch that knows she’s dead, all I have to say to G_D is “I’m innocent of all that”.

A dream 05.17.2016 and you were in it! – 05.18.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל

The Dragons of Heaven


Nüwa Repairs the Breach in Heaven

For I do believe there are dragons in….

The peak of piety had been hiking for days, his feet raw, from the battered climb to Heaven. He was known by many names, the prince of earth, the pontifex pope, the holy Ravi, and prince of peace. Much to his surprise, he was not the first to arrive, for there in the bosom of G_D, their scales formed from earthly struggles, there were dragons, and they were keepers, the sum of heavens fire. Welcome to heaven.

The scales go up, like in do re me, a psalmist croons in a minor key. And a shaggy head with no blood left to cast red, climbs a final steep through closed eyes, a dragons keep, cast ye heaven. The sheets of rain on earth through life’s pain, thought he a crippled man, made his living through a plan, and he cast his coin in war, robbed the rich to feed the poor. Raked his talons through the sky, took what change to just get by. And in the even, blackened tide, did not settle by what justice decides, was an outlaw, was a god, was the thought inside us all, and was a dragon. Welcome to heaven.

It was, when he died, danced the did, instead of why, made his sword into a fire, pierced the thought instead of did acquire. Thought the christ was just a child, why need saved when giving’s so worthwhile. He of flying iron and steel, of what he searched he learned to kill. Oh you dragon who conquers hills, when you lower to the valley, did you find a like of minds. And in the even, blackened tide, did not settle by what justice decides, was an outlaw, was a god, was the thought inside us all, and was a dragon. Welcome to heaven.

Here there be dragons a plenty see, those misfits that bother society, one has to wonder, why heaven ask them in. They move to torch those earthly walls, those best kept manners of dishonest men who hold wealth, hold it all. Such a surprise to not go down, to be a rebel a dragon not hell bound. He holds his wings to block the sun, the morning star says welcome on, and then he does see, a host of bestial family on the crystal sea. And in the even, blackened tide, did not settle by what justice decides, was an outlaw, was a god, was the thought inside us all, and was a dragon. Welcome to heaven. – 09.17.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Lucifer’s Opus

All Graphic rights: Socar Myles (Lucifer in The Violin)

Two armies in speed approach, one upon another, two lights between the northern skies, mine, and then one other. For every death, is thought one more, pain from one another. You dash your heel upon my shore, a shame, a shadow, a shudder! What instinct has traveled by your mind, that seeks to find its owner, have you not seen me act sublime, and turn a frozen shoulder. A thought of interest from your face, when you look at fallen grace, how it tempts you, when I cry, beguiling spirits how I lie, shining teeth so open wide, misguided thoughts in disguise. Oh song, never has a night been so long, opus in the darkness sung strong, fairer than the morning that comes, better learned of anger than none.

Two flowers bloom, in desert sand, their petals shadow each other, like balance between the sun and moon, one over lights the other. A balance beam, on one eye, continued thunder in jaded skies, why let us fear, my thoughts draw near. It could be true I love you dear, after secrets, spurned and scorned, fallen daemons from false storms. Do you not know me after time, we’ve shared proud envy, fallen pride. Across this prism, my refrain, a trial given, and still I sing, your host in heaven, Sheol knows well, I the mourning have grief to tell. That while your trumpets they do play, I’ve stolen lightning from its way, and in this opus I do sing, I am your wayward brother.

Two poles do reach across a stage, in time they seek to turn away, and if by night he calls me near, my song of death he still holds dear, an opus strung upon the lyre, of sickles burning among the tears. Yes he calls me, like chosen need, to chart the deadly with disease, a critic most willing, to stage a play, my tune in killing on judgment day. Two ones of two and then one more, a composition of just one score, a blade in light it holds more heat, an opus in heaven has one seat! – 7.17.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל