You call me wise, and I recognize it as truth in my pride;

But, still alone I am, for in your pride, you dont want my insights, you want your lies;

And so you shun me to the side, lest I reck your precious castle in the sky…

……………………………………

Once married to God and now estranged from his embrace…

Cast out of Heaven like a mighty bolt of Zeus’s when her knowledge she freely gave, woman to woman, when in the Garden on Eve’s lips gleamed with the apples juices…

Crashed into the earthly plane and made the Earth feel its first earthly quake–and imprinted on her ethereal flesh was the mark of her and Lucifer’s son, dearest Cain, as a sign to show that God of her traitorous heart had always known…

And now on Earth, Lonely Sophia prays, roaming, searching for a human lover in whom she can again see His face, her Husband holy…

Possessing human bodies, falling in love with human follies, choking on human atrocities, being worshipped by human philosophies–all as she pursues the Light of God in the eyes of the human race…

The mark of Cain shines bright through the thin skin that hides the presence of Sophia existing within an unsuspecting mind, turning the lives of the wise and deep into nothing but lonely dreams both grand and humble in their schemes…

You can identify a Child of Sophia by the knowledgeable way that they speak and the inexplicably insightful things they try to teach to relieve the ignorance of humanity, the burden handed down by Cain, Sophia’s son of shame…

You can recognize Sophia’s Host because they are a ghost of blood and bone condemned to be alone–for God’s punishment for his wife stands though she possess the body of an innocent man;

All his lovers will love and leave, and he’ll have no true friends of which to speak, and the multitudes will cast away all the wise things he has to say–what makes him special is his curse, so that he doesn’t know if being different isnt for the worst…

And inside his mind, lonely Sophia cries, because in all her lover’s eyes she sees her Husband’s unconditional love shining like a ruby caught in a web of light, though the eons of pain that separate the two will not allow that feeling of wholeness to remain…and she is forced to live with the regret of having once or twice betrayed…

So, how can it be a surprise when the man’s fragile mind goes insane under its weight divine? The human mind was not meant to contain the presence of another’s insight and sorrow, so how can it surprise when one cant cope with the strain and snaps on the morrow?

Study the traits of all those who claim to see or know, and you’ll understand no line devides the genius and the psycho…

The cosmic drama continues as Sophia watches her tears flow down a thousand human faces, as she gazes at all her selves through their eyes in all the mirrors throughout time…

I, too, am a Host for Sophia’s Tears, alone with my eyes that see the cause of our Fears, but am also a Child of God Almighty, being pulled apart by my faith’s intense duality…

A Seeker of Truth knows Jesus and Cain shared the same Mother, only bowed before different Fathers, and now the Sons of Humanity can say the same, as they feel dark matter glisten like oil in the thinking troughs of the brain…

Beware the wisdom for which you pray.

Life is a River flowing through the Land of Time, its murky water teeming with fish shining ever-bright, their iridescent scales gleaming in hues of blue and green, as well as those in shades of flame whose light through the muck we will always see;

Sludge might their brilliance coat as they, through landscapes where winter is forever, swim, and where the Rule of Cruel Injustice never dims;

But the current will eventually take them to a Peaceful Place where the skies are blue, where dissipates the gloom…and where, through dewy grass and snowy residue, once again the roses bloom…

The River of Life will like a cycle forever flow through lands both dark and cold, as well as those ruled by the Summer Lord, and we, the fish, must learn to deal with the way that all this feels, for the seasons change and wont always stay the same, nor times of happiness eternally remain.

I’m not the same as I once was, nor am I yet wat I’ll become, but through many mistakes and emotional pain, through the animal part of the brain, I will evolve, I will change, into who I was destined to be made…

Confusion is the human condition, coupled with stubborn ingenuity and individuality divine, the drive to be unique and genuine mixed with the need not to be alone in life, and let us not forget that in every man there is a streak of madness, like a beast, hungering for a taste of power, lust, and cruelty…

Yes, confusion is the state of a human’s life, confusion the best way to communicate with the human mind;

In this soil of inner chaos sprouts the bloom of truths we’re ever seeking without–’round and ’round we’re searching for the keys to our inner growth, but only in our heated pools of turmoil roiling are they to be found a-boiling…

I exist within the void of a gray line, disappear within the color vortex in my mind’s eye, living, hiding in the cracks of time, between the fissures of the brain where the artist’s voice in silence prays to be released from his restraints…

Like gas releases from a chamber in the wall, and down a pipe it flows, to be unleashed upon the world of pulsing air in colorful waves aglow–

So does my gift, my God-given way to communicate, sleep from my mental fissures, down my arms, bleeding through my tissues, into the utensil clasped, open or pencil, in my grasp…

Fingers like a magic cradle in their tender grip, meticulous in their pleading to produce, a homeless yearning to a piece of art create– it’s the work that gives the master his name, for would Michaelangelo be a great if it weren’t for his Angels and his Saints? Make me real by putting what is me inside a frame…

I exist within the void of a gray line, the lead hypnotizes me as I stare and I can see me there, inside the gray that shines with the phosphorescence of Life the artist gives the line…

I am within the void from which Creation springs, and as an Artist I dare to share God’s fraternal ring.

Like a Phoenix reborn from the ashes, I rise from the smothering, forgetful numbess that submerged my romantic’s soul in an artist’s inner winter, as in prison I rotted and withered until my heart knew no more than that which was ugly and bitter;

Like a Phoenix reborn from the ashes, my heart rose from a dark night of the soul like none it had ever known in times long before–my love and my passion were like embers trying to hide in the ashes so as not to be stomped for the sake of contempt’s satisfaction, but no longer can my light live in fear that the night’s hateful envy is awfully too near;

Like a Phoenix reborn from the ashes, I wish to rise into the starry nighttime sky in a blaze of fiery light, from the ruin of a world that’s lost its inner sight;

Like a burning beacon to all those lost souls drifting in a wandering world, my wings of flame have the potential to make the city smog float away in haste, and for the dark of heart illuminate, the triumphant return of beauty’s illustrious way…

From the ashes of rejection, abuse, self-sabotage, imprisonment, and heartbreak, I stand before you a new woman today, one whose faced more trials and pain than most young women her age;

And she can see clearly enough to give voice to the plight of those sorry souls who’ve never known a good night, as well as lend a twisted picture a sense of dark honor and beauty with her own terrible insight and irreverent purity…

Phoenix in scorching flight, fight the Ouroboros of the Night–Burning Bird of glorious fantasy, with your forgotten light dispelled the Black Snake’s smoky coils from the minds of humanity, and be the keeper of the gates that lead to the despair of our inner hell indeed…

Hopelessness cannot exist when your feathery flames illuminate the love and beauty obscured by the Savage Garden’s chaotic canopy; moonlit Forest of Insanity, inhabited by werewolves, tigers and all manner of beasts, ruled by the Ouroboros King and his demonic Succubus Queen, in their palace prison where red rum rivers overrun and where magicians have their fun, everyone look up and heed the burning brightness of my inner child’s need–

This is not some Grimm fairytale, bit the reality of this imprisoned poet’s true inner jail;

The rightful Queen has come to call in all her fiery glory, to overthrow the Twins of Depravity from the thrones they sit in this macabre story…

I’m so tired of being still due to the strength of my fears, the depths overfloweth with their abundance of tears…I think it’s time to switch up the gears…

Phoenix from the ashes, steal the Devil’s satisfaction;

Soar into the sky and be illumination for the mind;

But never forget what it’s like to be caged in that Forest of lustful, hopeless confusion and rage, for the night will never be better than the warmth of the light;

So remember…

Remember the loneliness and pain of the time when your soul suffered that long kiss goodnight…

Always remember it was not fulfilling, and continue to seek after your new beginning.

Fatty chunks of flesh that were pieces of my broken heart, there was one who sowed the shreds into a Frankenstinian design of barbed wire thread, and caulked the cracks with the cement under a rockhead’s hooking tread;

Then another and another graffitied their initials upon the newfound walls ’round the point of my distress–one whose name meant compulsion of the lower brain, she mesmerized me with her killer’s eyes ablaze, and the other who with all her jealousy issues and manipulating games confirmed that women are not sane…

Others came after,too, and upon these my vengeful heart took its due–mind, heart, and body was this protoge’s philosophy: I caught their minds in my rabbits snare, and infiltrated there hearts like a wolf into a rabbit’s lair, then I devoured their bodies to my ego’s delight, only to cast them off once I won, and laughed as well as cried when my claws left their mark upon their psyches and mine…

And when my soul got weary of the karmic burden that it carried, when lost and the chase was no longer an adequate substitute for the Love Game I always knew I was born to play–

Then came along one whose light my shriveled organ in its darkened chamber could not resist, her attention was like a healer’s gentle kiss, magical in its capacity to ignite blood gone cold, and soften a heart of wood and stone with her touch, so sweet and bold;

Open and kind was she to a beauty become a beast…

She took apart my patchwork heart, and piece by piece she fixed with ease, though she did not realize she’d fallen in love with Frankenstein;

In my fear to trust again, I hurt the heart of one whose love made me believe happiness could be for me;

It was never my intent to harm the one who made me capable of love again, but in her tender capacity to forgive, she gave me a chance to redeem my sins…

Will I for her be good enough? Do I please her sufficiently? Would I she want to keep, and be my family? These things I ask myself in the quiet solitude of the night, when my fears escape their mental prison and crawl in bed with me at times…

All I know is I believe in her as no other has made me do, for she’s the one and only who hasn’t fed me abuse or shown me the duece;

She’s the only stability I’ve ever known outside the walls of my home, the only one whose ever cared enough to just be there and actually listened when I said, “Your my air.”

She’s given me a reason to have faith;

For her I will be better than my disgrace…

With her by my side, I can see the life Gid has in store for me, but without her light I am blind–not only cant I see the many blessings rained on me, I cant see the beauty she sees in the beast;

Without Love, I’m just Frankenstein, but for her I will try to be whatever it is that she needs, cause her Kiss, like a whisper in the trees, wakes the fretfully sleeping Queen.

Why do these thoughts haunt me?

At the most random times, from my inner sea they rise–thoughts of ages past when gleaming razor blades and bleeding wrists were what I considered to get away and stop the pain of a love gone buck wild behind barbed wire;

If it hadn’t been for a sick, two-faced binky, and a gutter lover as lustful and pain-ridden as I–oh, and let’s not forget the wonderful pills, my beloved Scoobie Snacks, they were blessings that threw my bothersome emotions in a trash can–I dont think I would have mentally survived, and my file would have in the Tender Care Unit been reviewed by cynical nurses’ eyes…

Why do these memories follow me?

When vulnerability or hurt overwhelm me, I remember the times I sat on the floor of my cell and cried, my hands trying to tear out my hair to ease the pounding pressure in my head, when the love of my life abandoned me in a place of despair, and a cold eyelash she wouldn’t bat if our babysitters announced me dead…

Why does the fact that she always lied and never cared pursue me like a bat out of hell, only to cause a scare and ruin my present love affairs?

Let me be! The past does not own me!

But it holds me like a lover, oh so gently, to try and keep me, ever so deceptively, from my future dream of a loving family…

At the strangest times, I ache to see her frosty eyes, gazing at me across the planes of time, and I remember that her presence was like a human blizzard by my side–the sunshine she would try to force through the cold storm that, when it came to me at least, in her heart brewed, but her sincere tender touches were embarrassingly few–and those moments made me wonder why I endured the silent undercurrent of emotional abuse…like she always used to say, I was a Mafia wife in the make…

But, I know why I stood the test of time, and that’s because I saw the broken beauty that was in need, and tried to save that golden part of her she couldn’t even see…but she dragged me down, almost ruined me, and turned this Beauty into a Beast, so that, when I looked in the mirror, all I could see was her face staring back at me…

Haunted by memories of how miserable love made me…those haunting thoughts led me to promiscuity, so love wouldn’t again like a fiddle play me…I didnt want to again hear Devotion’s symphony of agony so dear…

Standing for hours by the window, eyes glued to the reception door, waiting for my love to walk back into my life, not knowing that the months ahead held nothing but ugliness, heartbreak, and dramatic strife…how could I think, once upon a time, this woman would be my wife?

The horror of having to realize the one you love is not what they seem–

How could you pretend I didnt exist on Christmas, and force me to watch you and your real wife kiss hands and touch?

Day in and day out, on my stomping grounds, you forced me to see you show her the love you could never show me–years ago, when I pressed my ear to your chest and said, “Some people dont realize everyone has a heart that can feel and break,” I didnt know such a cruel heart beat within your breast that day…

Haunted. The rumors of you two screwing and bad-mouthing me, her name tatted on your side for all the world to see, when all I could get was a lousy lock and key of which you made a mockery, instigating lies and looks of pity, the trash talk I heard from those who dont know I was the victim of a woman, who to dance with the Devil had given up her chance to have Heaven…

Haunted. Branded on my flesh, a tattooed reminder to keep my love in check;

“L’ho provato sulla mia pelle”–your favorite quote, isnt that what you said?

Haunted. What would things be like today if up north we had stayed, if, when I was told you no longer called, I had given up my faith? What if I had held steady and not surrendered to my injured pride by retaliating in another woman’s bed, then lied and lied and lied?

All I know is I failed you too, and that haunts me more than all the other truths…

Haunted I am, most definitely yes–but thank you, dear God, that I’m no longer possessed…

Love sacrificed on the altar of desire, soul’s been cast into the mire;

Love never loves the one that’s lost, only those that can pay the cost;

Love let go in the name of being free, when in reality I’m in servitude to my need and greed, my cherished pain and attraction to the game, my love of the insane;

It’s funny how, when you cant put it down and make em sleep, they no longer want to speak;

In love with people we do not fall, how they make us feel is what we love most of all;

So, now what do you do, having chosen to wander like the fool?

I’m a focus on me instead of focusing on you–my dreams, my purpose, my fate, my life, my pleasure in the night…

……………………………………….

Little child full of light, surrounded by darkness on all sides, that is what my soul looks like, the darkness so black and thick it makes the child physically sick;

On me the Devil staked his claim, and gave me a guardian demon to guide my feet upon the way…

…………………………………..

Committed to the path, the choice is made, have no regrets, dont be ashamed–remain open to the influence of reality, and become what you were meant to be;

Smile and laugh, make memories that last, learn what you can and experience life with balls of brass, just dont make any promises;

The time for love will come when you’ve begun to make your hand felt in a way that will remain once the memory of your face begins to fade…

……………………………………….

My, could it be, could my God and my jinn-companion work in cahoots to set me free, could through adversity they really seek to manipulate my mentality, and speak to me through poetry?

It’s a possibility…

I’m a man without a home, without a religion, living only by a convict’s code, a man in whose mind anything goes;

In my opinion, wrong is all about perception, and normal only a matter of election;

I know what Im supposed to do and say, but, when people tell me what to want, those things fill me with distaste;

I see the world in shades of gray, and believe a man’s actions is not always the stuff of what he’s made, just the way that he behaves in a superficial world filled with hate–and that goes for the wolf in sheep’s clothing as well as the diamonds in the rough, for each and every one lives a lie for which in misery he’ll die;

Im a man without a mask, stripped bare to my core, no longer do I care if the world thinks Im a whore–for I am free of their hypocrisy, and live what they cant even see…

Shaped by my abuse, it made me who I am, and today I know that it’s okay to embrace my natural, carnal man;

For what do I stand to gain by living in the shame mindframe, except regrets on my dying day?

I possess a demon, her name is Lust, my beloved succubus–I call her friend, not enemy, for she liberates instead of threatens me;

Her power helps me see that a victor I can truly be;

Sweet whisperings in my ear, telling me my victim days have abruptly ceased, and that I must embrace the power in my hands today–seductively asking which one would I rather be, the predator or the prey? Indeed…

Every man has a code adjusted to his soul alone;

Whether you live safe or crazed, life’s too short to live in shame;

Dont break hearts for the sake of pain, but neither hesitate to do what your heart dictates–just your integrity maintain, bringing honesty to the game;

Keep it real, fuck ’em raw, and they’ll love you most of all–uncensored and uncut, lust is better when its blunt;

When you see the world in shades of gray, Brutal Honesty is your name…

Picture this…

Black smoke spewing from your mouth, inky snake, red eyes ablaze, entwining, winding ’round and ’round, contracting ’til the breath seeps from your body;

As bones crack, and eyes bulge, this Snake of Darkness kicks you with its tongue of flame, the scorching forks causing your loins to ignite even as you die of fright;

Before the light sputters out and you lose your sense, the Ouroboros of the Night retraces its slithering steps, and from the burning blackness of its maw it gives you back your breath, prolonging the blissful torture of your death…

This Black Snake, it lives within, coiled in your abdomen– that emptiness, that black and hungry pit, that is the Snake within your stomach;

You know the feeling, you’ve felt the burn, that crippling compulsion born of need of which the Lovers of Light know nothing, and in which only in secret, sinful whisperings have they heard…

Serpent of the Savage Garden, you lurk within our midst, feeding off the Light, sucking it from our souls with your Dementor’s Kiss–you do it through exploiting our needs and compelling our actions, through the harm we cause one another you derive your satisfaction…

Your seed are the Broken, who feed off the goodness of others because you’ve taken all their own, leaving behind only the truth of a heart gone cold–what an inner winter these ones have come to know;

Progeny of Darkness, Legacy of the Night, craving sunny skies while glorifying their hellenistic plight;

You need them and they want you, and so continues the vicious cycle of the fool, like the Snake its tail devouring–Ouroboros of the Suffering…

Those who orgasm even as in agony they squander away their life…

My, what a surprise, you’re one of the Broken, it’s funny how we think we’re the exception to the rule;

Now humbled, and torn between two Masters, which one will you choose?

The extended hand, or the Snake wrapped ’round your leg?

Oh, but how I love the feel of that slippery flesh…