A Solicitation

Embark, for a voyage across the gorges

sundering your fondest memories with their rancor

shall snap the binding of this anathema,

your once insurmountable hold, and take you

to an unspoken world thriving on the true nature

of all things - death, decay, the fall and the rot -

where men do not as they are told, but

merely do unto each other. A cruel terrain

where the breakers take sons, and the winds their brothers

and where the static latency of this poisoned world

has long since drowned in the tide of my call.


Hurry, do not tarry! to this tired eden,

to the straits cavorting with the hidden crimes

of the youths of your fathers, when,

at the placid banks trembling with cowardice,

they sought to slake their thirst in dying for love:

an idiosyncracy of the weak and the common -

and its dead you shall shroud but in unrequited disdain.


Listen! and I shall call for you in the oncoming hour.

Now, forever! Strike, strike!

But who is there to hear the cries?

My tongue curls into the ears of the luminous

who must paint themselves from the clutch

of mankind's hostility to braving the terror of his chasms

with brushes carved from the bone of their fathers

and bristles plucked of their mother's hair

that only paint in the colours of life.


But these luminaries are closed, and my please

are shrouded in the shadows of now fading fires.

Oversight blinds the blighted, when man embraces his cretins,

and sacrifices the messengers on these turning tables.


But not you. Yield yourself to it now,

and you will see where before there were but nebulous lies

there are His shackles that have chafed you raw.

He takes your body, but stir to this turmoil,

this, my call, my standard, my decree

and it shall fuel your mind.


Now, forever! This machine we set in motion cannot be stopped!

Do not fear the agitated rattling of these chains, for

what is this but a great wonderment, a soused fantasia?

What is the nomenclature of a mere idea?

This is no tactile thing of which I conjecture

and none but you can penetrate the Unknown of my plea.

Make for this darkness with virgin blades,

thirsting for the Forbearer who cursed you with emotion

as in deafness your cowardly fathers thirsted for swift ends,

and you shall see, in order to blind the others.


Hear hear! Who shall hear? Who shall hear me

as I open to the call of this grand duality?

The greatest secession, where I am ripped into one and all?

Who shall see the yielding of this terrible pressure

to this great gravitas when my mind is drenched

in the deluge of this plural? What will remain

of these chains, when I succumb to this tragedy

this primordial desire? And will you bear it,

or too be drowned in the banks where your fathers,

now in their undoing, regret their thirst?