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Currents of Darkness

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  • golden3000997@cs.com
    And now, a word from our Double: Excerpts from Currents of Darkness the chapbook I haven t shown you all yet: We Must Shed Tears We must shed tears For all
    Message 1 of 1 , Jan 10, 2004
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      And now, a word from our Double:

      Excerpts from "Currents of Darkness" the chapbook I haven't shown you all yet:

      We Must Shed Tears

      We must shed tears
      For all the times
      Our lives confront us
      With broken lines
      And leave us faceless
      Against a wall
      And force us to wander
      In spaceless halls.

      We must shed tears
      For sunless dawns
      And loveless voices
      And tuneless songs,
      For all the shadows
      Of childhood ghosts
      And all the wingless
      Celestial hosts.

      We must shed tears
      For cracked facades
      Decaying walls
      And lost aubades,
      For all we never
      Were and knew
      For joyful notes
      That were so few.


      A Child Dies

      Some say that childhood is golden,
      As it well may be
      But I have seen the gold well hidden
      And racked by infant pain unbidden
      Through ghostly terrors in the night
      Which only infant eyes could see.

      What happens when a world of darkness
      Encroaches on the angel's land
      And drives away the sun of morning
      Without a signal or a warning
      (With only symbols lost to sight)
      Destroys the child in its hand?

      This world is full of dying children
      Who feel the weight of fear
      Yet who, with courage uncomplaining
      Turn with faces free of blaming
      Only asking for the right
      To speak to life with infant voices clear,

      And whisper to the world a message
      Recorded in the stars
      That all a lifetime's broken promise
      All the undeveloped eagerness
      Will find its way back to a world made bright
      When human hate this world no longer mars.

      And when at last the torture passes
      And peace is found in death
      Those whose weakened hearts are breaking
      By the child will be brought to waking
      When slow and dim their eyes see Heaven's light
      And from the other side they draw a golden breath.


      The Panther

      I took my little Christopher
      On an outing to the zoo.
      We saw elephants and hippos
      And a baby kangaroo;

      We saw otters and flamingoes
      And sleeping polar bears;
      There were ostriches and llamas
      And the lions in their lairs.

      The monkeys all were silly
      As they swung from tree to tree;
      The gorillas looked as if they thought
      They should be looking in at me.

      But then I saw a panther
      And the joy within me froze -
      He slept upon a caged, dead tree
      In sullen, black repose.

      There was no life within that cage,
      Except within his breast
      And all the fire of Africa
      Was tamely seen at rest.

      The floor was hard and cold and bare,
      The bars were black and high.
      No other living thing was there,
      Just people passing by.

      The tree was dead, as I have said,
      The panther on it lay,
      His paws hung down so listlessly
      There was no room for play.

      There was no room for running free
      The wild beast was trapped.
      His yellow eyes glowed out at us,
      The life within him sapped.

      Oh what will be the price for us
      Who cage the creatures wild -
      Who treat the royal majesty
      As a plaything for a child?

      I wished to set him free again
      To prowl through shade and sun;
      But as I turned, I realized
      The damage had been done.


      Refugee

      I look into your eyes and see
      Another homeless refugee.
      Our souls have wandered long and far
      Past empty countries under bars;

      In courseless ships adrift on sea
      We sail for unmarked boundaries;
      We ride the ghostly midnight trains
      On tracks that double back again.

      To leave behind the crumbled past,
      The burned out shapes that could not last,
      You fled and bore no other sack
      But nightmares clinging to your back.

      For these cannot be left behind -
      They mark our footsteps as they wind
      And call to us our fearsome fate
      Which turns our fragile love to hate.

      I too have left the world behind -
      The ruined country of my mind.
      My rags are shreds of blackbird wings
      I bind my feet with broken strings

      I walk with others, tired and weak
      No longer knowing what we seek,
      No longer seeing what we pass,
      A filthy, hungry human mass.

      Our eyes have met along the way
      But nothing's left for us to say,
      No human warmth can waken whole
      The frozen refuge of the soul.


      Incubus

      Ever since I was thirteen
      I have watched for you.
      I know, I have always known
      No mortal man could ever do or give
      Me what I have always wanted.

      Sighing in the pale moon's light,
      My white nightgown fluttering
      In the breeze,
      By the open window waiting,
      Waiting.

      I called to you, across the night,
      The stars whispered my longing
      To each other -
      You heard, you knew,
      You always knew,
      And were just waiting for me
      To be ready;

      Waiting until my desire had grown
      Large enough to receive
      Your power and your glory.
      Then, one night, by the open window,
      Among the trees you came -

      Dark and shining with the glow
      Of the love of hell
      You came to me
      And held me in your arms.
      In a silence born of joy
      And not of fear,
      I received your will and surrendered
      My own.

      The seasons come and go -
      You come with the fallen leaves
      And silent snow.
      You come in the spring
      With a crown of flowers
      That burn like none
      From a simple garden.

      You come in midsummer
      And dance me into darkness
      And overcome me
      Again and again.

      And though much time has passed
      And to the world
      I am growing old -
      At midnight
      Time unties itself
      And I stand, clear and radiant
      With no beauty lost.

      And when my time has come,
      To leave a world
      I have long been weary of
      And sick unto death of
      Its stale smell and pale face,
      I will fly into your arms
      For a final time;
      And you will carry me joyfully,
      Ever young and burning,
      Small and silent in my
      White nightgown, down
      To the gates of hell.


      Currents of Darkness

      The words slid past me into the inner sanctum
      Which we all use for our maladjustment
      I knew now why the famous habeas corpus
      Had become so decadent
      And why the painted virgins saw, but
      Could not speak

      The line of sleep fosters disenchantment
      For all worlds of carrying suspicion.
      Without our yearning for the lower regions
      Our white winged hoofs would collide
      With the darkness.

      The melting of humours against the night
      Leads forever around the banal criticism of hope.
      We are going, not through the charnel
      But rather, under the currents of darkness.

      Freedom is thought to be behind the circumstance
      Of force, and ahead of the illuminating
      Gratitude of ferocity.
      You know as well as I, that without the
      Insipid revelations we would starve.

      We run aground beyond the midst
      Of foreshadowing hate
      And laugh to find ourselves without
      True distance or despair.
      We cannot discover the turbulent heart
      Until we have seen forty vulture
      Canopies without wings.

      Fast grows the tide - abounding current
      Forthright shape of tenuous derision.
      Who could have raced the stinking foam
      To the dawn of brilliant intelligence?

      Lethal caverns do not hide our
      Fully developed morbidity.
      Our responsibility lies in this -
      Only to shatter all their false
      Dogmatic virtues.
      There is no bridge of rancour.


      Christine Natale 3000 All Rights Reserved
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