08-16-2016, 12:04 PM
Enûma Eliš (edit 1 Leanne, Philatone)
"When high heaven yet was named,"
and the waters weren't yet tamed,
then from chaos all was claimed,
and molded to their great design.
Imposing order from on high,
though truth was always there,
arrogant power their reply,
in truth, they did not care.
“To act is sin, to sin to die.”
-----------------------------------------
Insanity sleeps next to my feet,
as my hands seek to avoid the humidity
from my tears as they seep through these pages,
molding words into blackened obscurities;
stealing away the only distraction in this
my unjust and shameful exile.
Such is the price for aiding the willfully ignorant
who see help as bane;
perceiving what I gave freely as a treasure to be stolen
and my only reward for giving away my heart
is their nescient contempt hidden behind a smile.
Depression, Dread, my old friends have come to call on me again,
as though they had been away, on some midsummer’s holiday.
Actors they are. Pretending they are not,
just as surely as I, locked
in this cell of the ever enduring unendurable.
They are more alive than my supposed friends.
Old friends forced through obligation to visit,
so they will not appear to themselves, as evil;
or worse yet, unkind.
As sacrifice to the altar of Sicyon do they come, benumbed.
Did I ever know them? It is hard to imagine;
we have so little in common.
I often wonder this, as a pale face floats in front of me,
murderous dark bloodied lips flapping,
as though air moving in slow motion
as it leaves the thick overlapped rubber exit of a balloon.
I would as soon not watch these grotesques expunge their senselessness,
but I am fascinated by their inane hollowness
and in my loneliness I cannot force myself to turn away.
It has always been my greatest failing, so say the other gods.
I am Prometheus and they are my eagles, my crows.
I watch their liver coated viper’s tongues dart
in and out of their mouths; an adder tasting air;
testing to see which way the wind blows.
Come on then you belly crawlers,
would you sink your stainless swords into me,
so that you might bloody them like an unworthy knight
taking a virgin kneeling at prayers from behind,
that he might on the morrow claim his spurs?
What delusion! Do you think you can take what I choose not to give?
I gave you my heart, the fire that burned in my breast,
a pearl beyond price, a gift beyond all sacrifice.
Was that abscission not sufficient to calm your greed,
did it not for even a minute satisfy your desirous need?
Ah, I see. You have not the will or the courage to use it.
Did you not realize in your avarice that a fire must feed?
Yes, I see the fear in your eyes, you will not risk
giving it what it craves, for fear of its reprise: a sacrifice
of your prejudices, your fearful misconceptions, your self-deceit,
your taboos, tightly held dogma, your false remembered heroic feats?
You fear it will pull down the defenses that keep
you from seeing things as they are,
and not as you would have them be.
Did you think the power of a god came without price?
Have you not heard the old adage,
“with knowledge comes responsibility”.
Did you think it a choice?
When this fire burns, it consumes the dark deceit
so that it might illumine the multicolored truth
that sparkles ‘round and through all that is,
all that has been or ever will be, me and you,
with all veils of delusion striped away,
falsehood forever held at bay.
Color is the Lord Shiva of perception,
he is the destroyer of the black and white reality;
truth destroys the simplistic and the easy,
and it does so with an overawing finality.
Truth will freeze your soul for it makes clear
that all actions have unintended,
unexpected and far ranging consequences.
So if you would act, you cannot seek refuge in ignorance.
You will never again be held blameless,
for in everything, to act is sin!
"For him who need never atone,
let him then cast, the first stone."
Sad, sad, I pity you, for you are truly pitiful.
Seeing the world from such narrow minds.
Here then, give me back my wild little pet,
give me back my beloved, my life, my honor.
Here in my heart she will feed and be content.
Now go away my picayune friends,
you are not yet ready for such wonderment,
or such a burden as this gift portends.
For the moment, the only light you will know
will be the monochrome of reflected light,
ghosting over the landscape of darkness,
this, the only light to guide your sight.
For the moon reflects the distant sun,
but is the sun no more than this,
that you and the truth are one.
For you who see only in black and white,
cannot comprehend the limits of your sight.
Go on then, my poor scared children,
scurry now, back into your own dark night!
"Old gods know not death, they merely go to sleep,
underneath the ocean, down to the deepest earth.
Be careful then when in sin a great noise you make.
You never know just what you do,
or who you might awake!"
erthona
original
©2012-2016
"When high heaven yet was named,"
and the waters weren't yet tamed,
then from chaos all was claimed,
and molded to their great design.
Imposing order from on high,
though truth was always there,
arrogant power their reply,
in truth, they did not care.
“To act is sin, to sin to die.”
-----------------------------------------
Insanity sleeps next to my feet,
as my hands seek to avoid the humidity
from my tears as they seep through these pages,
molding words into blackened obscurities;
stealing away the only distraction in this
my unjust and shameful exile.
Such is the price for aiding the willfully ignorant
who see help as bane;
perceiving what I gave freely as a treasure to be stolen
and my only reward for giving away my heart
is their nescient contempt hidden behind a smile.
Depression, Dread, my old friends have come to call on me again,
as though they had been away, on some midsummer’s holiday.
Actors they are. Pretending they are not,
just as surely as I, locked
in this cell of the ever enduring unendurable.
They are more alive than my supposed friends.
Old friends forced through obligation to visit,
so they will not appear to themselves, as evil;
or worse yet, unkind.
As sacrifice to the altar of Sicyon do they come, benumbed.
Did I ever know them? It is hard to imagine;
we have so little in common.
I often wonder this, as a pale face floats in front of me,
murderous dark bloodied lips flapping,
as though air moving in slow motion
as it leaves the thick overlapped rubber exit of a balloon.
I would as soon not watch these grotesques expunge their senselessness,
but I am fascinated by their inane hollowness
and in my loneliness I cannot force myself to turn away.
It has always been my greatest failing, so say the other gods.
I am Prometheus and they are my eagles, my crows.
I watch their liver coated viper’s tongues dart
in and out of their mouths; an adder tasting air;
testing to see which way the wind blows.
Come on then you belly crawlers,
would you sink your stainless swords into me,
so that you might bloody them like an unworthy knight
taking a virgin kneeling at prayers from behind,
that he might on the morrow claim his spurs?
What delusion! Do you think you can take what I choose not to give?
I gave you my heart, the fire that burned in my breast,
a pearl beyond price, a gift beyond all sacrifice.
Was that abscission not sufficient to calm your greed,
did it not for even a minute satisfy your desirous need?
Ah, I see. You have not the will or the courage to use it.
Did you not realize in your avarice that a fire must feed?
Yes, I see the fear in your eyes, you will not risk
giving it what it craves, for fear of its reprise: a sacrifice
of your prejudices, your fearful misconceptions, your self-deceit,
your taboos, tightly held dogma, your false remembered heroic feats?
You fear it will pull down the defenses that keep
you from seeing things as they are,
and not as you would have them be.
Did you think the power of a god came without price?
Have you not heard the old adage,
“with knowledge comes responsibility”.
Did you think it a choice?
When this fire burns, it consumes the dark deceit
so that it might illumine the multicolored truth
that sparkles ‘round and through all that is,
all that has been or ever will be, me and you,
with all veils of delusion striped away,
falsehood forever held at bay.
Color is the Lord Shiva of perception,
he is the destroyer of the black and white reality;
truth destroys the simplistic and the easy,
and it does so with an overawing finality.
Truth will freeze your soul for it makes clear
that all actions have unintended,
unexpected and far ranging consequences.
So if you would act, you cannot seek refuge in ignorance.
You will never again be held blameless,
for in everything, to act is sin!
"For him who need never atone,
let him then cast, the first stone."
Sad, sad, I pity you, for you are truly pitiful.
Seeing the world from such narrow minds.
Here then, give me back my wild little pet,
give me back my beloved, my life, my honor.
Here in my heart she will feed and be content.
Now go away my picayune friends,
you are not yet ready for such wonderment,
or such a burden as this gift portends.
For the moment, the only light you will know
will be the monochrome of reflected light,
ghosting over the landscape of darkness,
this, the only light to guide your sight.
For the moon reflects the distant sun,
but is the sun no more than this,
that you and the truth are one.
For you who see only in black and white,
cannot comprehend the limits of your sight.
Go on then, my poor scared children,
scurry now, back into your own dark night!
"Old gods know not death, they merely go to sleep,
underneath the ocean, down to the deepest earth.
Be careful then when in sin a great noise you make.
You never know just what you do,
or who you might awake!"
erthona
original
©2012-2016
How long after picking up the brush, the first masterpiece?
The goal is not to obfuscate that which is clear, but make clear that which isn't.
The goal is not to obfuscate that which is clear, but make clear that which isn't.
