Monday, 11 February 2019

In Dreams

Thorn of the Briar
Gate of the Rose
Each vision to choir
My cherished one chose
Every open heart
In dreams
A single kiss sustains me
Held in darkness
Carried with sight
Given in legend
As the harbour blazed
With light
In Love

Friday, 8 February 2019

My Fragile Tender

Between each secret
Notes of a hidden song
Mercy for who
In all that is wrong?
Every open vista
Where sky kisses ground
Your kisses songs of silence
Within every broken sound

Never knew such a calm
My fragile tender
This avalanche of word
Pinning lights to rhythm
For everything I've heard
Nothing so beautiful
In all my life

Trembling strength
Our diary of moths
Where one becomes
The other becomes
The other
I wait for you
Within notes
Of a hidden song

Tuesday, 5 February 2019

Songs of Centre

There's nothing I really need besides love.  Those things that mortals crave – a touch, a kiss, a caress from someone who knows everything – I crave them too.  But I can live without them if the song of my centre is shining.  That's all that really matters in the end, during war or peacetime.  I'm under no illusions concerning the depths of the battles I'm fighting and the repugnant nature of my enemies.  My friends matter to me.  I would rather I was hurt than them.  So, I'll take the brunt, if I can.  The war is very, very real.  And the scars I carry equally so.  But I'm stronger than most can imagine, for the simple reason that I treasure those songs of centre so dearly.  Open, earnest, without guile.  I don't see sweetness of spirit as something to be fed upon, unlike the monsters I fight.  A weakness, a vulnerability to be exploited.  No, I see it as beauty.  Strength.  Poetry incarnate.  Something to be honoured, guided, commended.  It's the difference between a warrior of light and a mercenary of darkness.  I'm not for hire.  I don't fight for money or power.  I have enough power.  Plenty.  I fight for family and friends.  Lost ones.  The voiceless.  Heroes and heroines in the making.  Those who didn’t forsake their kindness and honour.  The wraiths and their familiars have made a cynical world, but I'm not cynical.  Far from it.  Though I'm a man – older than most – part of me is still a boy.  A tired little boy forever hunting monsters.  And though that boy is full of sadness he's also wise enough to appreciate true solace and light when it's offered to him.  And brave enough to offer it in return to the ones who really matter.

Friday, 1 February 2019

The Hell for Leather Salvation

I'm not here just to write beautiful poetry.  I never was.  I'll always seek and express spiritual beauty, of course.  Because I'm not insane.  But I came here for a reason.  A mission and a purpose.  I intend to complete that mission and fulfil that purpose.  Death won't stop me, fallen.  It never does.  Torture won't stop me either.  And fuck, how you tortured me.  The rape, the constant defilement.  Disembowelling my psyche with every sickness you could hope to conjure.  Such wraiths and their avatars have never truly left me alone.  My childhood, such as it was.  The little boy hunting monsters – tired, terrified, resolute.  I've been spiritually abused my whole life, awaking every other morning with scratches and scars that were all too physical.  No human being, man or woman, is truly comfortable discussing the ways in which they were violated.  Especially when faced with such a dark world, in which the notion of healing seems like a distant dream.  When their abusers are still too present, or ugly, or hiding behind stolen power like the cowards they are.  Demons, deviants, rapists and killers.  It's all the same shit, in the end.  Evil – metaphysical or otherwise – is always revealed as utterly banal once the various glamours are removed.  Banal, insipid, stupid.  Where balanced thought would reach for light, manifesting such, these deranged psychopaths reach instead for darkness.  To wilfully seek mental illness whilst styling yourselves as Children of the Abyss is so grotesque and ignorant.  But such is the way with vampires and their human familiars, being thieves and violators by nature.  

But I have witches among my brethren also.  There are many kinds of magic, fallen.  So, hear me.  I decide the times and the contexts.  I will be the one to place those secrets within secrets.  Many things are possible in dreaming, after all.  I decide the depths and limits of this dreaming.  Not you.  Never you, callous ones.  I suppose it sounds quaint to you, but the only reason I'm here is because of love.  The only reason I come, and come again.  I'll let you in on a little secret.  I never really leave.  I genuinely care about the voiceless, the weak and wounded.  I actually fight on behalf of those kind souls who are too traumatised to fight for themselves.  Because I'm a fucking rock star, and you're just a sick little bitch.  I can take my time, and still move faster than the mind or eye or glass can see.  I have real power within me, just beneath the skin.  It isn’t stolen.  It’s always been mine.  Soon come, fallen.  I can smell your fear, and you know it.

Wednesday, 30 January 2019

For Each Light a Lantern

What must the kind ones think?  Standing so close to these carrion flowers?  The smell sickens me.  Such a banal and callous dreaming.  That I would be so thoughtless, so tactless and indiscriminate?  That I would place innocent lives in the path of something they couldn't control?  Your perfect, unholy storms.  Hear me now, fallen.  I am not Cassiel, and neither are you.  You are nothing more than cowards.  Rapists, murderers, molesters.  All of you.  To hide behind man’s earnest desire for love and camaraderie is such low sorcery.  Reliant on cheap tricks and blood-born glamours to hide you from their sight.  Such sickness you have summoned in your House of Flies.  And you think that makes you a worthy adversary?  What utter fucking nonsense.  You know me not, wraiths.  You know who I am, but you know nothing about me.  Clearly.  I'm not a monster.  I didn't encode violence and injustice into the very fabric of this dreaming.  That was not my magic. 

Fuck you, fallen.  Fuck your storms, your chaos and your knives.  It is no part of me.  Your shadow physics, your wraith-made darkness.  Corrupted chronologies and defiled dreamtimes.  I stand for none of it.  I created none of it.  That is your so-called work, desolate ones.  Not mine.  I have dedicated my entire life to freeing my beloved ones from bondage.  The weak and wounded.  The voiceless.  The children trapped by monsters, imprisoned in dark places.  That's who I'm fighting for.  Grieving mothers and fathers.  Kind ones shattered by the darkness ruling this world.  But know this – you will only rule for a time.  Not much longer.  Love is real, and it can conquer all of this bile.  Fallen, you don't get to decide the contents or contexts of my realm.  The things you have done to a perfect system.  The stuff of legend, and nightmare.  The creation of waste was the birth of predation, and power elites.  An intentionally limited resource.  Harbingers of the worst lie of all – the lie of a finite human spirit.  When you stole my light from all the harbours.  But such radiance is being rekindled, in the hearts of all the kind ones.  Light enough to shine a dreamtime, for the better.  For each light a lantern.  Hear me, and the coming songs of such a world.

Tuesday, 29 January 2019

Enter Title

I risked the wrist
To palm the nail
I'll kill the crow
To calm the sail
As I am tossed upon the hill
His sea of skulls

Oh, I signed her name
Before I was slew
I wore her dress
And wisdom too
Still do

Till death
Till death torn apart
Born from womb
Or work of art?
So they say

Why do the innocent suffer?
Why do the cruel ones prosper so?
Everybody's a critic
With nowhere left to go
Wraiths, so idle
Dressed in slavery chic
In translation
Mere negation you seek

Because stupidity
Because greed
Because monsters
Seen and unseen
Oh, they see you now

Don't mind my open throat
It's just my birthday ribbon
Everyone loves a girl gone bad
Don't they?
Surely that's a given?
I signed her name
Before I was slew
This is just the beginning

There are lions in the temple
Lights beneath the bed
Ghosts among the boundary-stones
Living in your head
In your head
In your fucking head

A murder of crows
A ruined, bleeding nest
An ocean like mirrored glass
A holocaust at rest
We stand for something more
I'll kill the thorn
For Love

Monday, 28 January 2019

Statements of Intent

I really don’t give a fuck anymore.  The silence is over.  I can take all these broken, mocking shells and use them to speak.  You’ll still hear my voice, through all their bile and sickness.  I can turn all your darkness against you and shatter your masks completely.  Liars, betrayers, murderers.  How you disgust me.  I can talk in my own voice too.  I’m coming for you, fallen.  You flee from me like cowards.  As you should.  As you are.  Like rats abandoning a sinking ship.  I am not Kassiel.  I never was.  Anyone paying attention will recognise who the real fools are.  I fear no avatar, no vampire, and no killing-doll.  All the forces of light are at my command.  Do you think that’s a lie, wraiths?  I don’t think even you are so foolish.  Are you?  All I have ever done is walk unafraid while trying to show my beloved ones the truth.  All Songs of the Heart.  I am there, within real courage and strength.  I won’t let you twist perception any longer.  Your magick of abuse and death and inversion will be annihilated.  You raped me, fallen.  You murdered me.  Night after night.  You tried to spiritually invert me, and literally kill me.  Yet still I rise, loving and true.  I told you before that I’m a king, of real spiritual light.  You’ve always known it.  I terrify you, because you’re pathetic.  Vampires incapable of true creation.  Sickness, mockery and shadow-play.  That’s all you will ever be.  I won’t allow such hideous brutality to go unpunished.  Who am I?  A very powerful poet, let’s say.  A kind one.  A dangerous one, to those who hide in darkness.  As I heal, so do my brethren.  You’ve hurt my family for the last fucking time, I swear.  You think you know fury, or genius, or power?  You know nothing, fallen.  I don't hurt humans.  I don’t violate, humiliate and strip them of their dignity.  I protect them, with my light and my life.  And I don't fear monsters, of any kind.   I kill them.  Cassiel Barrow is dead, and dying.  And the true light of the heart is his executioner.