In the space where enormity collides with our smallest whims,
Man exists as creatures of his own demise,
Destined to bathe in the swill of his discontent,
Afraid of creatures he once heard exist,
Yet never has seen himself.
In the aftermath of great storms of such misery,
We exist as creatures of our own creation,
Born to both fall and rise in the shackles of our mind,
Yet dead to the truth of what could be,
A truth many have not yet been given.
Each nail in our coffin can awaken us to great imagination.
Each sound of the shovel striking sunken stone,
Awakens us to the great peril of having never lived at all.
Awaken, please, I beg of you,
Sleep will come in its own time.
Who slides with us into our great unknowns?
Other seekers, equally steeled to some great task,
Holding hands, or walking in one great Solitude,
Tongues dancing together in some great Kiss,
Lovers they are, even in their moments alone.
Those who do not understand please find shelter from the rain,
We, the Ones, must dance or drown without the shelter you seek.
We must clean ourselves in the mud and swim in the raging torrents,
We have no time, such cowardice is not our way,
Instead, we'll find our ecstasy in the things that scare you away.
Fucking to the sounds of thunder, making love under the eyes of Moon,
Laughing as we might while darkness fades away,
Leave us be to our delightful misery,
We explode to sounds of joy and challenge,
We...climax as a sacrament to our own Heaven.
I hear her coming in the autumn breeze,
In the darkest hours of the morning I speak her name,
Silent though I am, my heart shouts for its own mastery,
Awakened though I be, I grab her by the hair
And take her just as she as commanded me to be.
Forgetful though I am, my hours shrink before my eyes,
Each thankless tick of that Great Clock seems me nearing my own end,
I will not go silently, bent to the order of how I was told things would be,
Watch me, and marvel at my greatness,
Discover you are but seeing a reflection of your own.
Be joyful in the scratch marks on my flesh,
Cock swollen, she knows where I have been.
The dust on my feet will betray my deepest secret,
The blood that trickles down my back forever sings
That song she shouts when she reaches that place she fears to go.
We know what cannot be unknown,
Forgotten, perhaps in our moment of humanity,
But never unknown in the space of our Divinity,
She straddles me with such great intention,
Rides me until the Sun burns eternal in our sky.
Yes, it is forever evident in the hearts of those who dance in great unknowns,
What is not ours to share is often that which cannot be kept to ourselves.
The dilemma, it seems, is in which we cater too.
The wolf we feed,
Is the wolf that wins.
