This poem is inspired by Robert Browning. Can you find the meaning within the madness?
I
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
II
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
III
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.”
IV
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
V
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
VI
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.”
VII
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
VIII
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
IX
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
X
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.”
XI
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
XII
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
XIII
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
XIV
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.
XV
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
XVI
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.
XVII
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.
