Love and Words


the Demon of Providence


Beauty veiled in poison
is more desired
than beauty in its natural state,
and blinded by false orange sky
man seeks the Divine
ignorant of its accompanying pace.

Night and stars no longer dress universe gown,
what is eternal plays costume to man's heart haste,
and Seasons mourn that of seeds sown few to root take.

There is no common language left,
no Babel from which to speak.
God sits now straining for the smallest of praise,
weeping in a voice man only hears as rain.

Man and God, side by each,
looking in different directions,
speaking in tongues they cannot translate,
and time grieving -
folds its wings,
closing the circle and ceasing.   

Is this what life has become?

Endless turning repeating in mazes confused,
endless calling from a tower of voices falling,
keeping word from ear
meaning from heart
prayer from soul, amen.

And whose fault was that?

Such questions I am not supposed to think to ask.
Being such as I am,
a servant to God's desire for man.

Immortal hands that never tremor
wring with worry
that what was made shall forget from where it came,
and all shall be final sundered.

Through Angel intervention God woos man's dreams,
but not trusting the interaction,
with the Demon he manipulates reality.

We each have our own part to play in this drama,
but no golden age this or even renaissance,
this shall become known as the age of reluctance,
for too many souls have found too wide a sea.

Has God no mercy anymore?
Who is he to add to their pain?
To offer challenge where comfort should reign,
why does he fail to understand
that harm will not make a faithful man,
it may bring him to worship but changes him inside
and makes of him an island
and like a Demon -
he will choose to suffer loneliness
rather than bring poison to company.

In the end,
it will be Angels and Demons that will fulfill destiny,
by acting the aunt to Man and God's intimacy.

Angels and Demons,
two children never mourned
jealous siblings servant to obsessive longing,
who will witness the wedding,
but are never invited to the feast.

What is Man that he is examined so?

To each born is gifted one of us to guide and cajole
and sometimes demand,
that choices be made,
even sand eventually gathers and stays.

How many times must Angels fly and Demons howl
before you think to look beyond the length of your hand?

Again and again and again,
man is born and thinks it is to get it right,
but it is the choices that are repeated and not the life.

And do you not think
that we see
this preference given to your everything?

Sometimes I enjoy the role I play in your happenstance,
it saves me from admitting
my sorrow in your presence,
for even ageless heart beats weary
of sorrow borne and carried by each man's sole witness
the Demon of his memory.

Like a weapon I hold images of your past,
only to which of us is the blade pressed?

You have banned the meaning of love from your conscious
and like a rebelling slave your soul seeks it at every chance,
yet it is hindered by its vehicle,
a body you have bound to ideals of romance.

An Angel is of heaven, all loving and good,
and a Demon is God's monster -
incapable of feeling,
incapable of loving,
a nothing to be overcome.

Yet even a Demon is part divine,
and the part I share with you -
that of love I long for and company I ache,
must mean I have a Soul - it's true -
for how else could I plan such torture and pain for you?

I hold your memory of life after life after life.
I am your consistency.
When you are lost you always find me,
and take what I offer
only to walk away again.

My Love unredeemed becomes ghosts that haunt these walls,
and borne anew you come here
and cannot understand why
it feels like home,
but it is here I always remain
holding these memories as if time never changed.

Every chance I have to pretend I am a mortal man,
I look for ways that what is before me shall pass,
this food this wine
the feel of the sun on my face,
the beat of the earth as I lie belly to the ground -
to revel in the confines of a beginning and end,
to know that what I have done
will be forgotten - what bliss!

From this fantasy I indulge,
as I wait for my moment with you again,
I have learned the key to what choice means,
and behind which door stands the lady.

I know where the labyrinth ends,
if you would listen to me,
I could untangle this mortality
and you would never have to begin again.

It is now and only now in this space between
what has been and before I offer you these choices again
that I may speak to you of what I have learned.

Only the young chase love's chance,
age brings the bonds of circumstance,
blindness grows not in your eyes but within your soul
as you lose the knowledge
that everything taken in can be let go,
and in that and only that can eternal love grow.

What God told me and Man believes
is not available to me,
I have found with you,
and answered life's mystery.

Following you,
gathering your memories,
remembering your dreams,
witnessing your hope as you try again and again
to find what is missing.
I have that for you.
I know what it is.
But I cannot give it to you,
unless you are willing to choose me.

Do not hesitate, do not wait
for one more opportunity to pass
and let me discharge my task and fade away
until your life cycles 'round to receive such choices again.

Listen to me.

I have endlessly witnessed your birth
and guard you more closely than any fool Angel.
I see you through to death each time,
challenging and trying to make you decide
what is of this life and what is of the divine.

I can bring to mind
every inch of your face,
how your eyes sit beneath your brow
how your soul radiates.

I have stood so close to you
hidden by shadows
and almost touched
almost traced
your lips as they rise into that sad smile you make.

In all this passage of time
I have come to love you,
and I have no history to look to
to tell me how to conduct romance,
I have only these spare moments
in which I can abandon what I am
and come before you as what I can be.

If you were to love me,
if you were to love me,
to choose me,
we would both be given the gift of mortality.
There would be no more endless cycling through life and time
searching for meaning,
for meaning lies in the love that you memorize
the shape of a hand
the feel of another's presence in a room,
the warmth that comes
from knowledge they are there even if they are not with you.

The gift of recognition,
small traces of divinity
that make us all part of the same,
and allow us to see our Love in everything.
And finding that
finding that,
in the end,
we would both be allowed to go home again.

The choice lies not in which you would desire,
but in choosing to love everything.
For even the parts of life that are ugly and strange,
are nothing more than flowers that long to bloom again
and color the garden God gave you.

That is the secret he held from us both,
that freedom lies not just in loving yourself,
but in loving all mankind.
For we are all one thing,
and I -
I am the piece you are missing.

What is my torture
what I beg to be known
is which would you choose knowing where choice leads?
Would you choose me?
Or would you choose to wait in hopes of something more pretty?

What I would give to have you look at me once
just to see at last
my reflection in your eyes and tell from your face
if there exists such a chance.

I want you to see me for once,
not as a tool of your destiny but in my reality.
I want you to look at me
the way I have seen you look at your lover and the lover before
and find myself at the source of your longing.

I may hold the sword of your memories,
but your weapon lies in the depths of your soul
from which even you could draw love for me -
one breath,
one kiss,
and I would become God's monster unfit.

Willingly would I bear the grief
that holding the gift of your love will bring,
for I know that with love comes more than peace.

Such gifts bring an awakening
to the pain of years lost,
of the coming breaths cease,
of there not being enough time left
for you to know all of me.

Yet I would still choose to hold your love,
and nurture it even with my grief,
for grief is as much soil to love as anything,
and there are still so many Seasons left in which to grow.

Just to be with you,
as beginning and end,
with all the universe in-between.

Which would you choose?
Would you choose me
and let time unfurl her wings?

Will you raise your hand
and let it fall,
and come what may,
make your decision,
and let me stay?


decagon          poetry 



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