Ignis Fatuus
The Suicide
Cursed that slime ever crawled from the water,
Cursed that plants ever sprang from the mud,
Cursed that son ever was born of daughter,
Cursed the rainbow and blessed the Flood.
Cursed that Earth ever spun in a circle,
Cursed that Sun ever shone on the Earth
Cursed that God ever made a miracle
Cursed the womb and blessed unbirth.
Life is empty for death will come after,
Song is worthless for silence will end,
Victory is voided out by disaster,
Building is broken for one must to mend.
The oak despairs for ‘tis doomed to topple,
The reeds and the willows are torn by the surge,
The river runs dry and the worm in the apple
Springs out to die spurred on by its urge.
The dawn is cursed by the coming evening,
The evening is cursed for comes on the dawn,
Each thing slays each other as Cain, his brother,
Till rhythm and rhyme lie sprawled on the grass.
And passes the pattern, the slatternly masses,
Are all that are left of the heroes once bold,
The knife comes out and screams as it's squeezed,
Desiring nothing, but nothing.
An end, unknown.
To even itself.
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The tub is filled with blood and cool water,
The flesh is rotten to slime and black mud,
The lamb was starved before the slaughter,
The wolf is skins tho it drank the Flood.
The fly was not born to buzz in circle.
Mankind was not made to walk on the earth.
Nor God ever was for light's miracle.
The womb is blessed for its unbirth.
Nothing e'er for naught to come after,
There is no beginning for anything's end,
Nothing could lose, thus not disaster,
Nothing may break for nothing to mend.
Nothing nothing nothing no thing no thin no in non no no nononononononomonotonus naught
Is not, the dust and the echos,
The knives and the mud,
The water and red,
Were made.
Creation groans because she is broken,
Her cry is spoken in star and in stone,
The mold and the rain show forth for token
The winter's bleakness, the summer's heat-drone.
The world weeps in the spring for the autumn,
Where leaves are shattered before the storm,
Her tears are the ocean for her heart's drum,
Burst with the bruised apple and its wyrm.
Mankind mourns before his smashed scepter,
Fallen and falling still with the bright stars,
All that he has wrought, rots to a specter
Ghostlike and graspless save his prison bars.
How sweet is evening while the light passes,
How fierce the stars crowning mountains that rend,
Into whisps, the clouds that water the grasses,
We walk pass, sorrowing, on the path we wend.
Yet for all of the soul's desolation
Death, desperation, and darking despair
One is blessed to live in Creation,
Blessed for God didst plan the repair.Please share pure things, I need to wash the stench of free verse, death, and melodrama out of my soul. Cat pictures, rat pictures, birbs, doggos, icons, anything. Also, subscribe: