Thursday, November 17, 2016

Exhaustible Fate

This is the last poem I'm going to publish from my book Through the Silent Caldera on the internet, since I am busy editing my second book at the moment. I hope you all enjoy it. My mother asked me to read this poem years ago, but I wasn't ready by any means. Death comes with some many different emotions that it is a very difficult to process at times, this poem only focuses on one, anger. 

Saturday, November 12, 2016


The day life slipped
From my only shelter
I met a primitive woman
Barely clothed
In a tattered
And frayed frock
Burgundy bleached
From an unforgiving sun
With short matted
Ebony hair
She took notice
Of me slightly
As I arrived
For I
Was just passing through
Deep within the jungles
Of South America

She had carelessly
Busted open
An exposed grave
While the rain forest wept
And began washing
What little laundry she had
Amongst the water
That had seeped in
To accompany
The decaying bones
Of a poor soul
Withering away
In an ancient cemetery

Suddenly my hands
Were her's
And I began chanting,
"Bana, bana bana."
At that moment
A decrepit stone sundial
Struck two o’clock
Sunlight glistened upon
Every crystallized raindrop
I realized
Death had consume me
Murdered me in my sleep
He did
While my attention waned
As a crescent moon

The Great Witch
A mother of divinity
Warned me
Two years prior
But not even
A channeled spell
From a planet
Where magic inhabits
Every being
Could untangle
Such a bitter curse
Of discourse
Marked upon my soul
By his misguided
Vengeance marred

For a week I traveled
In between worlds
Nowhere near humanity
Just glissading through
One looking glass
After another
And oh how he begged
Humbly negotiating everyday
With the archangels
Of lore
To bring me home
Wailing with clenched teeth
Bedamning himself
For all he had done

I was brought back
To my animated body
Kept copacetic
By a merciful angel
I thought I was
But you must understand
A man such as this
Has no soul

Would you like to know
How he killed me?
He took my broken
Grief stricken soul
Riddled with tears
Of multiple
Nervous breakdowns
And slaughtered
What was left of me
When I was most vulnerable
For this is not a human being
But a demonic force
That has only been witnessed
Upon the silver screen
In the shadows that creep ©

The Magical Caldera