Monday, July 27, 2009

The Emperor.

I was afraid
to start another page
with any other sentence
than
I was afraid
for fear of shedding too much light
on myself
and leaving this character
behind
alone in the dark
where he always
believed himself
to be.

I was beside myself
with emptiness
and unsure
which of us
was the stronger
and who would take
the next turn
the knight or
the page
or the fool
but I didn't wait
I just
took it upon myself
to take
one step
out of the black
and into the red lit
white walls
which enclosed
this new discovered freedom.

The Emperor
sat in my hand
strong and patient
and I felt little concern
sharing my dementia,
I asked,
have I left behind
tortured muse
the joy of a broken man's art
the release of sorrow of guilty creation?
Will the notes still dance
silver fruit
upon the prison bars
if this good boy is not
racked and shivered by sobbing inspiration?

Is that the price?

The Emperor was quiet
for a time
and I held his gaze in a mock of courage
taller in leather boots and tie
wiser I thought I
seemed, without the red poison
a weekend's worth
shifting my heart, clouding keen judgement,
fuelling passion's destructive intent to bleed
yesterday's maudlin painting
which hangs crooked
on tomorrow's
false emptiness.

He spoke
one sentence
and his lion breath caressed
my reflective skin
thinned by perception
for his words were my own
as he faded

until alone

I found
an End
to Hell's
exposed falsehood

these copper and bronze insights
masquerading as Gold
and tossing wires and pipes into the fire
the purple detours and sleight of hand descriptors
burned brighter and brighter, the tunnel moving faster
the Truth filled with laughter, the internal master, the craft and the crafter
the morose and dribbling dafter, who by his own hand had sat behind while all
had fled,
he chose the dead
over the living, held tight the squinting child - and for what - not even his own reward
but for other's benefit, a double play, so that he might say
that in this sorrow lived his true heart
when it did not - oh no, it did not
but nor did it live
in what he had forgot
(breathe quickly here, breathe fast my friend)
the final
the last
the beautiful END

was

what?

A single star in a dead black night
a smile not feigned, but born of what's right
an intelligent decision
a dance of precision
a sigh of
breathtaking
humility
with which to empty the last lees of self doubt
and embark upon
a most courageous adventure
an
imagination
of Real Life.

(Breathe slowly now, breathe slowly now, friend)

And if you do,
you might just hear
my
Lion.

1 comment: