Friday, March 15, 2013

The Man from Beastland (an epic poem)

This poem is inspired by Robert Browning. Can you find the meaning within the madness?
And he did not wave a flag
as he came with sword in hand
No shield,
no armor,
just a point he had to make
No, not for goodness sake,
but rather
God—there, in the bends of space
Snow and ice could not mend his heart of spice;
never again will he feel alright
Come, come, come you all,
come and run and stumble and fall
A boy tried and died
Mermudo, the protector of man,
came from that of the sand of red
Like Adam,
like you,
like me,
never again will they take
Child from mother,
but rather the
Badness—away from the hypocrisy of fakes
Slow to learn, quick to lie
whenever there’s a curse in flight
Come, crumble the towers of man,
dark and bright and tall
And here are the lutes,
the trumpets,
the percussions and bells
Singing a song of sorrow
and hell instead.
The last gunslinger is dead.
“Lissen,” said the blind man.
“Is that what I cannot see?”
The oceans, the lakes,
the flowers and seas
Gardens of marvel,
legacy of creations beyond you and me
Then he said,
“You can’t stop what is there,
Even if you’re scared.”
Now listen you dweller of evil. You tart soul
With nowhere to go,
no place to love or hate
Except what a Negro calls a spade
Listen to your heart that’s been left alone
For so long like a fire
without kindle
This here is a window
to darkness beyond dark
Arrows alit and hit his emptiness
Screams and groans with no course to take
Into the bone and marrow, poison ran amuck—and flames
Answers find us in the end unless we never start
No beginning, no end—listen friend
Fiend—when will you drop the bottle of pills?
Between your lust and hate
Regret—can’t you see there’s no such thing as fate?
When we met you said, “I will love you until the end.”
So, at the end of the road to the tower
he entered with his ego attached
No glory—but horror, eons of euphoric
rage—a contradiction he can’t feel
And in the dying light of day
he faded into the sage of nonsensical pain
And he spread his wings and sailed away
Through the highlands and the dead woods
No food, no water, not but hope for change
No, not for me—but for the soulless
World—there, in the trends of hate
Poe, a ghost, a phantom of neverlove and lies
never again will he feel the sun shine
upon his face, his skin, the taste
of the sun and its call
A girl lied and cried
Bonita, the prettiest of them all
came from the rib of a man long dead
Like Eve, like you, like me
never again will they take
Faith from the kid who refused
Gladness of the products of the world
Fast to hurt, slow to heal
Whenever sticks and stones break
Buildings, houses, towers, and malls
black and brown and tall
And here are the curses,
the blasphemies,
the love of hell
Discarding the lust inside o’ you,
like a shotgun or turtle shell, broke
O’ Discordia, you’re such a joke.
“Maturin,” said the blind man.
“The fake one you all believe, more than
The emotions, the breaking levees,
the greediness over needs
Graveyards of prodigy,
legacy beyond legacies beyond you,” and
Then he said,
“You can’t stop what is there,
Even in the end.”
You listen and learn nothing. You fat cow
You eat, you eat, take what isn’t yours
As big as a whale, beyond all of the lore
Cut out your heart and eat it right now
For it best to cut what makes you sin
It is simple—or choose darkness beyond dark
Inlaid fleets attacked without cause
Killed the queen, butchered goats and cows—all the same
Spears ate through the walls and the gates by flames
One man screams with an arrow through his chest
No hope to live, no kiss from his love—it’s the end
Bleed—when the needle sucks it out
Between your veins; you’re nothing now
Relapse—can’t you see there’s nothing else to take
You said, “I hate myself,” before you died again
So, at the end of the road to the tower
He entered, he stumbled, he fell
End of Journey—no more story to tell
Nostalgia came over his soul and it told him to run
Away from the light under the door in the room
But his hand opened it; what he found was doom.
And carnelian clay crumbles underfoot
Feet so tired of miles they were wont and bruised
The decision they chose was a vision to bear
When the cold comes in through the door in winter
And the smug through the walls of the hot days
When they won, they spread their sin everywhere
When the bold stand to fight against the whore and sinner
It’ll be won by the one written in the word of God
To defy the man from beastland who comes,
Who already came, already come
And the smoke drove out men,
Dead and gone, in beds so long; came
The sand under the door with the light
Whispering a journey too dark to bear
But who cares when the truth has no sight?
Or bearing—no staring from a man blind
Or hearing from a man too ignorant to listen
And the glistening of raindrops, and its rhythm
On the pavement, or the grave
And the corpse says, “You’re not living anyway.”
The man from beastland watched the
Fire burn down homes and buildings and churches
He watched the
Hooves of horses trample the departed;
the horsemen tear down flags with extensions of hands;
Them all mocking the cross and what it stands for
He watched the
Swords cut through the innocent instead of the wicked;
And the stabbers just laughed at their pleas for mercy
They teased and they teased, stickin’ it deep
Pretending to consider their cries of, “Don’t kill me.”
He watched the
Slaughter of children white, black, yellow, big and small
The curses that flung and destroyed so many walls
He watched as nobody lived, until death took them all
Until then, the Beast from No Land wasn’t there at all.
And his boot crushed a mooing crow on death
Under his foot, the crimson clay stuck like mud
No place to wipe,
So treaded on he went,
Let the feet of miles, yards and meters clean his sole
No, not his soul,
That’s still dead
“God”—he said aloud, “It hurts.”
To the deity he doesn’t believe, but says it anyhow
Never does he twitch or cringe at the surge of irony
“Come, come, come to me
I will eat and feast and bleed you dry.”
And they followed his many lies,
But he never followed his own.