Temple Oracle

4 July 1998
Allihes St. Nicholas Church & Cemetary

dead laid to dead with a view of the atlantic and the copper mines that sent so many to early graves Harrington Downing O’Sullivan names that are traced in my blood from the seventh son of seven sons whose name like mine appeared on granite these overgrown grasses lost titles on overturned stones from years of solitude and the demands of death gnaw lighter now than years ago when there was a longing to be set with the generations before razor blade dreams looking at on faces on the street standing the test of time with my smile wind wracked and sand blasted wrinkles from an angry ethereal sea the Sleive Mist mountains clouded in clinging cotton slow moving as molasses or the minds of country folk’s change from year to year on issues like homosexuality and outsiders like myself… and in the cemetery the oldest known church on the isle whose window empty stood the test of time but walls like toy soldiers fallen to the earth among the Kelly’s and O’Neil’s.

THE GREAT BARRINGTON POTTERY HOUSE

Japanese style pottery from Cork Co. definitely appeals to my sense of style silent paper prayers Kanji guardians all about and some distant cousin telling us of creation processes as his son Tim Harrington pulled lovingly blue blonde upon his trouser leg speaking of the glaze the artist’s signature from scratch ground fire from the local copper turquoise and flashes of neat crossing one’s fingers to produce blues to vibrant beating burgundy … leaving now garbage sultry shipsers the bullet train to Tokyo and the book of limericks from Limmerick meets my eyes meets Japanese poetry society to form the Limmerku 17 syllable – 2a-2b-1a form as I give it a try:

Hold me
I shall not flee
I’ll stay with you
Forever true
Loving thee

Oh, well, it was worth a try at least

AFTER MEETING HISTORIAN RIBARD O’DWYER & LISTENING TO TOO MUCH CHUMBAWUMBA TOWARDS KENMARE, CO. KERRY

*flickering pictures hypnotise we spend our
lives watching other’s lives too much
watching to realize that this is a smoke
screen and this is why people die*
– More Whitewashing

*hunger put the sparkle back in television*

as the sudan crisis is posted across bus stations in Galway and you can help too just send a case of Dr. pib and burger king certificates to their address and all will be alright close your eyes don’t pay it any attention just watch as her lips swallow you swallow you in or close your eyes as the palm oil is saturating your hair just go shopping or take a drive using the oil we’re having others fight so hard for the news will tell us when it’s all over and it’s all over just close your eyes and follow me into the tele just follow me into tv land where we’ll give you a bucket and mop and you too can help clean up all those aesthetically unpleasant bodies

PASSING THE VIEW ON RING OF KERRY

The islands sot across the sea line horizon passing *the most famous view in Ireland* gentle grey washing upon savaged shores as men in black rubber penetrate her briny deep searching for relics of past conquerors the rolling thighs snugging the sky hint at the cascading waters ravaged lands and hungry grazing wooly lovers the falls part your lips mossy crags and sloping rocks both carved marked owned and those natural as the day you first parted your legs to meet the heavens

HAVING SEEN THE OGHAM STONES OF DUNLOE

Strange more than slightly strange that the Ogham stones of Dunloe were just at the side of the road and not even at a wide spot in the road up to a set of steps to a graveled railed area enclosed no cultural notes no explanation no security and an old (peace) symbol on one of them as if some force decided that I wasn’t to walk too far and transported them for me only to move them back home this evening… the carvings were distinct solid reminders of something perhaps a past of stone words of warning or dedications to the gods… I’m not sure. I’ll have to cross reference it later.

1 July 1998
Tobar Bridge, Kildare 9:15 AM

30 birds crows wings black against the pale grey sky flew away as we approached in our burgundy automobile passing 2 oaks large & majestic as we came upon the well having passed its entrance twice (the sign had been knocked over, lying in the grass and brambles) / there is a bridge crossing a running stream and at its other side a donations stop a placard declaring wells are holy places and a sign announcing the place * to say your prayers at each station around are pines alder birch but the only oak are the tree behind wooden bars and placards announcing scout troupes community groups and a man now dead in whose name all are to pray. The water filters from well & stream through rock basins past a life size effigy of the saint bearing her church in the palm of her hand down towards the well past 5? (will count when I get the photos back) stones on stones to the well with kneeling area rock low wall cross placed in 1952 and next to it a pine where ribbons have been tied rags a rosary a medal a hospital bracelet and a brigid’s cross made of crow feathers fine lovely flowers and immaculately trimmed grass a kneeling area back by the river stream and as I looked into the well a voice did speak that it was not right to fill from the well that we should look on to moving on not being stagnant corrupted by pure and running and beginning anew I weave my steps round the stones back to the steps & water * the covering arch * the statue with the cross beneath it and whisper to myself of the new found faith not here but away and fill the bottle giving thanks. Finish photographing, take some photos for dad… cross back over the stream to the lovely but sad place into the car and as we drive away an old woman on a bike is heading towards the well the crows are overhead & we head back into town the smell of fresh dew no longer on my lips as it had been & CelticLovers playing on the CD player

(Will return to later on pages down as day pass parents are fickle creatures and time persuades otherwise…)

7 May 1998
Better Late Than Never – On Grianan of Aileach and Beltany Stone Circle 8 Days After We Visted Them

Grianan of Aileach stone circular fort situated on 5 ½ acres of land land united divided and conquered was once occupied by the royal house royal louse Ui Neill, of which Eoghan founded a dynast of High Kings of Eire that lasted 500 years terraced steps 3 concentric rings and inside the walls hiding places crawling spaces for escape in this place of the sun ‘grian’ in modern gaelic Grannos the male sun diety godde and down a path lined on all sides by thick gatherings of heather dry in the late spring *to see it bloom would be glorious* was a well spring metal cross banged in above it hammered in as an afterthought and dedicated to St. Patrick for it is said that he baptized Eoghan at that well between the earthwork defenses that now has cigarette butts and a film atop it your flag stones pushed aside disgarded yet lush greens grow about your moist motherly mouth your sacred sacramental wine but this too in time will may be forgotten by the people those who pave over my flesh with a cement casket who dig up my nipples as ore smelt me melt me for tin cans and cash crops and like me Griannan o Aileach was destroyed torn down by Brian king of Munster in 1101 in revenge for the uiNeill destruction of Kincora and only 100 years or so ago was she the stone womb devoid of tombs rebuilt to its lovely loneliness atop the mountain gazing down on derry and all gazing up to be seen

***
Earth my body
Water my blood
Air my breath
And Fire my spirit
– Wiccan chant to the elements
***
Motioning a prayer with the spirit between her lips another prayer another calling to the earth here as the sage slips between her fingers onto the soil grass inside the stone circle before we run off to catch the McGinley bus back to Oideas Gael her eyes wet with the wind that flows through long ruah locks tied back with a blue scarf silver strands interwoven the prayer done she hikes up her skirt friends at her side and heads down the hill
*has everyone taken their photographs good one two three* and off they run into the circle four boys and two girls suddenly in a race against time space age 12 once more move faster their feet slipping on cloud broken rain remnants that were pouring down as we had approached the site sad but expectant a twenty minute refuge from the road trodding the ancient weeds beneath adidas and doc martins and there they go off on the ancient race ancient traces in a standing circle the rest of us standing around laughing photographing betting who would get there first and looking at these ancient stabs there is a question comment in the minds of all save the fast footed lads and ladies… who was here first so long ago who were they what were they like what races did they run so many millennium ago horse hooves clopping along ancient cobblestones and across theses same pathways and this plateau Beltany Hill that looks out on a fantastic view view of a world ancient unknown and now merely to imagine oak ash groves that might that grew below holy woods groves grounded above this sacred ground stone circle

At it center stone surrounded the winds whispered lightly gutly the music man through the weeds deeds of our day I closed my eyes bent down in veneration and imagination to feel those who had come before me in the green dew tears at my touch *hush* a lit fire mountain night dancing singing *hush* reeds rustling far away flowers hidden yellow against these grass greens old granite upstanding citizen slabs *hush* a bird chirping clouds passing over head a cat cutting through the undergrowth at the other side of the clearing hearing the noises we as humans made *hush* my hair weaving with the spirit abounding and the moisture fills my eyes too as if dew rain clouds had hit me loved me washed me as well *hush* and now thank you north forms of earth soil between the tracks of my boot bare toes solid finger tips east air that rides me in spirit mist clouds comfort caresser love of the willow ashen oak to bring them to life south fire that lights my soul that was lit here so long ago that will be burned here again some summer night in your honor west the waters waves washing over us gentle rain giving life and loving the world loving me a pause a single breath open my eyes time to walk on

The bus calls rolling away on muddy field streets goodbye to the hard painted *stone circle* sign the green corridor the up and over entrance yet the circle calling back puts sheep in the way to slow our leaving come back come back dance in me pray in me live here love me know me and be mine you were here such a short time in my ancient place and I have been lonely make my existence meaningful again not to be a tourist trap but a venerated location once more don’t go come back come back but with our back turned to her the sheep are cleared from the road and we ride home to fill our stomachs and forget the magic forget her cries but I listened and every fiber aches to return to her my lost lover to feel her beneath me again to lay with her run her hair through my solemn fingers kiss her gently and return to her make her whole once more

23 April 1998
Kitchen @ Oideas Gael Droms after Anam Cara Seminar

“SPIRITUALITY IS A STRANGE THING”
– Judy Frank

To move… the spirit itself constantly on the move me across the sea to a celtic non-celtic Christian spirituality beyond the politics of the church where jesus is there to teach the message of an ancient tradition love love … namaste welcome oh how I cherish accept and adore the spirit of god within you the crack you tell fresh as the milk on old corkey’s table the sad alcoholic who would be buried ina a pauper’s pit before everyone realized that he never got home home on the range the man urinating on the wall carpeting in county sligo the day of the wedding “move over, I get to punch ‘im, he’s my brother” while the next such celebration had the best musicians cordial men and women with waves caresses of compassion… is it possible to identify with a religion any religion that sends it’s energy not into the self or down to that earth that sustains us that supports a through nurturing sun son light of lugh does not anymore appreciate or seem to understand the spirit of it’s original teachings that up until it was taken out quoted the catechism 2.2.6.6 on the state’s right to kill those who have done the most grievous crimes oh hands off cain the sinner already bearing the mark we have given him by placing him her they the divine into a situation that they feel can only be escaped accepted in with violence but is the divine a higher being persay must jesus yalweh Krishna know my every thought be a perfect being or does he make mistakes can he learn and grow along my path does she become a personal embodiment of all I seek to understand accept I would that I could find my own spiritual beliefs where –balance- is the key not right wing left wing feminist feminazi patriarchy matriarchy but where the inner chord of the soul rings true where I can feel free in my heart to wear both my St. Christopher’s metal and my goddess fertility pendant and feel like they in balance with each other with a possibility being to stay within ‘the church’ (as judy tries to do) or within ‘the covens’ (as adelle seems happy to try to do) if and when they are willing to accept my blending blurring knotting swirling together of the dualities knowing that all sides all parts can be reflected within me for within me is a form of the entire cosmos as can be seen in the night visions of survival quotient the sacred heart within each of us to the world to the sun to cosmos universe cosmos light pure light into through beyond human life reborn in the form of an anointed one the Christ of our rebirth renewal each more precious than the last…. The ancient celt who were you did you hoist heads on staffs for all to see the embodiment of hunter gatherer cain tribes or were you adam herdsman agricultural vegetarian why how did the saints come to you the early missionaries to search for a good conversation or on a quest to convert those in the farthest reaches bowels hollows of the earth did you find the celt find an inner understanding of balance in the Triunal godhead father-son-holy spirit along side your triple goddess maiden-mother-crone three in three so mote it be or did the word of this wise man from Jerusalem inspire more than a reformation of the horned one did you the celt put the sun behind the cross or was there also a chance it was the moon mary standing beside behind her son on his death tools comforting and supporting as in life so as in death

18 April 1998
Fado, fado

Fado, fado another day in Paris the city of lights of love burning in the evening the night before having had a sit down meal of cheese pizza and Perrier in a grimy French pub/café people playing pool in the front room alone after a day of the Louver courtyard falling in love with stone granite faces breasts sighs thighs the color of golden light tracing each lamp post darkened copper and polished or but now one day later images of Rodin dancing in my mind “the Secret” an ultimate image of passion the intimate touch of two right hands formed in marble speak to me of fingers hands meet as two pilgrim lips meet my Shakespearean love song eulogy modern art of delunay Edward munch the cry the depression the death of marat tell me de sade of how marat was killed the dagger in her hard and the inmates crying wailing about the play production mary with her unborn child violent blood reds rich ruah red my words for the color in our veins in my hair in the tears of the vampires that look from outside our precious precocious scenes post nationalist post modern post post modern post me a letter from paris the next day before I visit the Louver inside to have my panic attack in 14th century Italy oh mona lisa why do you distract so many with a wry smile seen on the statuary of ancient Mesopotamia the smile I’ve seen on my own face before so many times before this day the last day of Mars the last day to March on march forth black adder a snake in the mind of the BBC enter the auxiliary characters myself and thousands of tourists to a play that has been in production 1000 years in the making an eternity in the wings enter center stage to the scene a wide expanse of open pavement four thousand tourists gathered outside the church of myth mystery novels of the hunchback and esmerelda covered now with the scaffolds iron prison of reconstruction marble face lift been waiting to see the eyes the very eyes of Notre Dame for so many years and now upon seeing it those eyes are veiled try again in a few more years just a few more years not so many given the cathedral’s lifetime I goth street punk spiked hair Carolina boots no thoughts of the caroline left behind as the floral print crème head scarf is thrown on head down and back to pay my respect the sign before I enter proclaiming *please be quiet* no hats* please remove your hats* and 100 frat boys from the states go inside their caps proclaiming red skins and fighting irish my camera bag and coat thrown back onto my right shoulder crossing myself in an old symbol long before crypts bloods the prayers used over the crypts of old and inside lines follow this way miss until I look up jaw dropping as each panel of light colored by the rose window enters my view pathways of st. john mother mary full of grace no need for that precious parking space giant paintings and carved statuary everywhere a holy place so infinitely glamorous and sacred to the catholic mind with Japanese Italian French American tourist one by one with flash photography video camcorder watch the people praying aren’t they funny so slowly I made my way make my way to joan of arc forgiven by the church and proclaimed a saint after having been burned at the stake as a harlot witch flames crisping frying my skin flesh as one knee at a tie drops onto the red old padded cushion and arms rest upon old oak before the closest thing I could find to an independent woman in the catholic church in a positive light and with eyes pressed shut I pray for strength on my journey pray not to hit the man from Taiwan who’s using flash flash Gordon photography pray for safety pray for a discovery in my relationships pray eyes tight for direction in my religious life and opening my eyes drop fancs into the metal box as I light a candle say thanks to joan and my our fathers in a slow English clear under my breath looking up to see so many tourists tourists pointing at angels colored lights gold jesus gold mary gold ancient oak stained polished wood everywhere listening as songs are sang in old latin *did you get a photo of that* did they photograph capture on film my prayers to a god who listens only on occasion and I hold myself back from decking screaming at the old asian woman with the video camera whos trying to zoom in on the people praying waiting for evening mass to be said but slowly I decide instead to join those waiting for mass tears in my eyes w/ the beauty of the cathedral Notre Dame Notre Dame the night lady how right they never named you for looking out stained glass I am reminded of my theory on light that each religion is purple Catholicism red Buddhism yellow green wicca but through each pane pain of glass faith all you are truly looking at is the light of the sun above light the language colors of love

Ancestor America

do you see a face you recognize
here on the edge of the sea
where you leave
for a new country
america
america
my country tis of thee
stripping away the people of another nation
blighted
lighted with the candles of memory

the ship tossed by the wave
i save the last bit of food
as we go to one more funeral at sea
when will it be me
or my loved one
walking that plank
in a white sheet

100 years but a dream
silent in the waves
silent through the days
i remember it all now
sunken eyes
bones for thighs
and my ancestors
call now to be remembered
while mrs. robinson pleas for those of today
and i sit comfortably
here in america
america the beautiful

Dreams of Myth

red painted the whore
i am the visage of every woman
subjugated before the cross
the guns of the church
the rest of mankind
Adam! take the apple
take it taste it make it yours
take me
take away the pain of birthing
take me away

Adam?  why do you lie so
who was here before me
who was in your bed
your head
who do you dream of at night
who do you think of when I am gone
who was she
was she a goddess
a geisha
a one night stand
who was this lover
that was never made from your rib

Adam.  i remember you
you have left your second wife i see
800 years alone
morning light greeting you
each day of your journey
i am not as beautiful as i was
when i left you
was left
left alone
take me back
for just one night

and in the morning
god’s neighbors complained
and the nuclear family
became a myth

Standing on the cool blades of grass, toes dug into the soil, how can one not find themselves to be a part of nature?  We, as humans, eat of the grains of the earth, who in turn have grown from the dirt that we trod upon daily.  And, when we fall, dying of old age and diseases, are not our bodies interned into the earth to become that dirt once more?

The hawk that flies overhead, she too rears her young by bringing them food and teaching them her ways.  The cheetah watching for it’s prey, like us, knows that some day he too will be part of the soil where the food of it’s prey sustains its existence.

However, above all else, we know that we are part of nature for one reason.  If all else in the world were to vanish- trees, water, stars above- we could not exist, let alone be the supposed masters of all of creation that those who think us to be apart from nature claim us to be.

Earth mother goddess stands beautiful majestic polluted with a hundred years of industrial revolution gun production nuclear waste and disease yet I find her to be beautiful still, for earth gave birth to all, proven not only in the myths oft the celts, aborigine & native americans, but also by modern day explanations of big bang theory that state that explosion formed ball with nibbly bits with water which IN TURN gave life.  Earth is mother of all, sky father, not just from songs learned while young girl becoming mother loving dyke child in long flowing skirts singing kumbaya and other such peace dirges, but because paganism (in all it’s manifold wonders) has embraced me.  Wisdom of Buddha, Taoism, legends and lore, the Rig Veda, Sikhism, and more form a composite not only of my views towards the earth but my views towards myself- a proud, strong creature with to need for labels though they have been given to me: Dyke, Pagan, Dominatrix, Freak-child.  Many view the Earth in the same way, as property to be labeled with titles of countries, but viewed from space she has no lines in the sand that can be crossed no my home your home ALL IS EARTH… ALL IS MOTHER Unfortunately I tend to be a hypocrite though, eating meat, living in a concrete apartment wearing polyester and corsets that deform me from what my mother intended for my body to be.  In Kuaii I saw the TRUE beauty of earth in the falling waterfalls, birds singing from the branches of colorful blossoms, greenery filling my nostrils with the sweet fragrances of nectar water sunlit skies that told me “i am part of this beauty, I am part of nature” I saw mountains shaped like dragons on their backs in honalei people who still lived in harmony with things long gone a spirit world more attuned with what i perceive as the truth versus the irish catholic dogma my father tried to force down my mouth like cough syrup on sunday mornings.  Earth should be revered by all people all traditions mythos structures but in todays society how can we do what we must for survival of the species and our own peace and happiness when our parents have instilled in us a need for earthly possessions glow in the dark watches and cellular telephones.  Its not their fault either it has been growing since man first took to his feet alone and demanded that god be explained and paintings be made for the glory of earth we have been destroying our mother from the beginning, and still she forgives us bringing forth fruits of her bosom.  As the chant states: we are one with the mother we must take care of her; unite my people be one.

The rocking of the sea as dead bodies are strewn about ancient city dumps but how can they be ancient when just a blink of an eye has passed since the very creation of man?  Tears yearn to shake free from my eyes but I know man HAS done this.  How can I call myself a lover of Earth when the Earth cries so.  “Go forth and multiply and subdue the earth” cried Yahweh to his new creatures Adam and Eve, and it seems they served him well for their descendants have indeed conquered what they find they were given dominion over.  The question in todays society is can we change what has been done when even our bodies are toxic, when so many species have died for our so-called benefit, when the land is now praries instead of forests.  It served those right in the dust bowl to be buried so under the clouds of dirt that they had plowed up from a soil that was meant to be grazed over by the buffalo and indians.  We are like lemmings, like termites, like small creatures that “overran a continent in less than a century”, picking up everything and destroying the earth in order to achieve material goals and technical knickknacks that we cannot live today without.  Slaves to materialism, and a common goal of world domination, I find myself ashamed to be human.  How will we be able to continue to live here, our ONE PLANET, when we continue to proliferate our species and overrun the earth with the feet of nike-clad warriors seeking bigger and better micro processors that require one hundred thousand man hours to create, and little children across the sea take apart batteries for one penny an hour.  As the android sisters once said “we have two pieces of paper, both the same size, both just paper” as a reference towards money and in todays society, and they were right because now we worship many more than any god has EVER been worshiped, and who could blame the human race for it.  If you were a logical species wouldn’t YOU choose to worship shiny metals and computer screens full of stock reports?  I thought so.

Carl Gustav Jung spoke on dreams wisdom the views of collective unconscious dream ritual religion mythology the the things that bind common all the peoples of the earth the flood the creation the garden of peace and the animals that occupy our daily lives.  This the big dream this the sky gods and goddesses that are one or many polytheism or monotheism this is the collective unconscious he spoke of the dreams given up by the african man after the white man came for now they knew not the ways of the weather not the ways of the animals and not the ways of god for “the white man knew better” and with the white man the european spread the ways of death the ways of corruption the loss of the collective mind.  For Jung to enable himself to look at the collective mind soul workings of the mind set up a watch tower going to america talking to mountain lake of the hard faces of the western man of rituals of our own daily lives for how can a man say “I will meet you at this time” when time is a creation of man and not part of the flows of each individual when one woman may be a night person and one a day person it is because their bodies look at time differently the same way we look at dreams differently though many will have the same symbolism within those nighttime dreamscapes.  The serpent, the cachinas, woman holding child, womb, river, sky all are archetypes and as Red Diamond said “Carl Jung was a mind-blowing radical.  Almost a radical archetype you might say.”  And I agree for who else could so counter the ideas of freud and still hold so much sway in the strict minded european collective that sought answers to their own meaningless existence in the depths of their psyche.  If archetypes are what we are made of our dreams our visions our holy places and ways then why do we bicker so over our differences?  Who decides which is right and which is wrong?  Are my dreams of burning at the stake a form of reincarnation, or an archetype of the female persecuted for her knowledge, or a sexual longing for my mother which are all interpretations of the same dream and who can tell when not even I, the dreamer, knows for sure.

The starving looks of those cloistered onto reservations by the pale faced barbarians tell of people who had been there longer than their ancestors bones could remember far as siting bull’s father said to him PROMISE NEVER TO SELL THE BONES OF YOUR FATHER for in selling the black hills the americans wanted a people to sell their holy lands their ancestral burial grounds, their way of life.  Have you ever fought for something?  Something so important to you that you would give up anything else, even your own life.  Probably not in todays society where it is common to trade your soul for 500 megs of memory and a pretty girl dresse din vinyl.  At the same time they also prosecuted their own people who had simply chosen a different way to worship the same god (mormons by name) simply because they were diferent.  Why must fear those different from us those who might look at the earth in awe wersus looking at it as a source of profit those who are part of the ground we walk upon instead of apart from it those who think before they act,  I had a vision that there were soldiers coming at us but they were falling into our camp and the vision was good for it told of our victory but who was it really a last stand for?   When before in such a place had such a group of tribes gathered for a COMMON purpose, one goal, one mind.  If only they had banded together like taht before ot as crow verses nez pierce versus cheyenne for what good did that do when divided they fell.  Though it is hard, prejudices divide peoples and when a leader from greece went to the oracle of delphi he asked whether he should go to war and the oracle said “if you go to war you will destroy a powerful kingdom” and the kingdom was his.  We repeat our mistakes throughout history not because we forget, but because we choose to ignore and by golly gosh sakes Custer even shot his own horse out from under himself, need we say more?

To style ones life on art

Unchanged Clothes

I.

sun dance nightscape
falling
caught
fear arrogance tears on an old bed sheet
unchanged clothes and realizations

II.

was wearing pink skirt that first time
had to walk home afterwards
almost two miles past Achilles mansion
and a little park where with sunrise boy went on first date

III.

stairwells
so many fears tears
crying like a babe beneath the sheets
covers
unchanged clothes

IV.

barefoot
treading upon ancient cobblestones
rain splashing down upon trees
happiness forgotten
tears
sitting upon damp Rock stinking of drugs guns sex pain love
and lust at first sight

V.

leather
so many obsessions kinks fetishes
picked up from first times
often set aside
showers back doors rubber pain
unchanged clothes put back on
run run run away

VI.

he doesn’t deserve the dignity of words
paper
so many volumes on volumes
reflecting tears in his honor
epitaph death gravestones
graveyard quiche near fences
dining and ignoring pain rain tears and urges to flee

VII.

Throw away unchanged clothes
walk in the rain
run to the sea
refusing to drown
choosing to swim in lifes oceans

Golden-Eye Nights part III

the rain falls in a deluge of pain to wash away the tears left from a lifetime ago when you held me tight on a mountain top

yet now you stand with her beneath a bridge conjuring up images of lost souls that are bound to the earth through powers beyond your own powers that hold sway over me too as i’ve seen the stars fall and the winds rise around us

i thought about the past and i stared at you with her until you told me that if my childe left me and you left her we would be together again

now the childe is gone but yet i fear to return to you since you still love her and only one love can hold sway over you

you become the cat

beautiful sleek and smooth golden coat glistening in the moonlit sky above us

now you are only the man whom all say they know and perhaps they do for then the man inside is simply hidden deep, the man whom i long to hold and cherish and be my true self with fleeing into the night in an endless sea of bliss that will never end and yet i know we shall not since i died for it all before and nothing came of it save your brief bouts of happiness that have been cast upon the wind to be forgotten again and again

you spin into my mind a stranger until i meet your eyes drawn once more knowing you are truth and beauty hidden behind golden eyes that are now afflicted with a blight that you have no say over that was given to you by someone now gone

in a perverted twist of fate you have come to me now when the stars align against us to end it all and change the world

nothing can change the world

what are we to do in the end as the sun rises and none shall remember our own deeds

when the dust settles and our bodies are laid to waste under a sky unknown to us with foreign gods and unknown stars that pull upon a new destiny

none shall remember anything that they were taught

and all shall be lost