Idols Of Death
Cold marble pressed against sweating skin
by David Lacey
The floor of my asylum is a rivulet of luxury
Decadent memories of a former life stir
Reminiscence within the hours of my awakening
I'm falling, failing to rise
Keeping open with a hope in faith my eyes,
Still I fall; still I am to be found
Carving circles in the ground
Crying out for a sanctuary in the sky.
We are as insane puppets dancing, fuelled my the motion to live
Pulling our own strings when we wish and sometimes the strings of others.
I sit alone at a table round
Where are the knights of my fable?
Where is the romance that was promised to me by fairy tale philosophies?
Some are coordinated by the will to live
Some by the fear they may die
Some by the notion to give
And some by a fabric of lies
Every man is born to die and in knowing this
Idols of Death beckon wisdom within a realm of eternal sleep.
Christ, Dionysus, Balder, Morrison, Joplin, Jones and Drake
All are Idols in death, deified as Achilles, as Drusilla,
Sister lover of the beast of men Caligula,
Luther, Ghandi, Lennon.
All are idols for the celebrity cult canon.
Even tyrants are mourned by those whose life’s they destroyed
Deep within the memory of sleeping falls a single tear
Even for those that induce fear within the heart of man.
Through poetry we become philosophers, we become lovers, therapists to unknown faces,
We are the makers of myths, continuing traditions forever growing
Shamanic dances, holding within our hearts the history of our kin, it is we who seek within
Ourselves to know all that can be known.
The words have the power, the words exist before me
All I may do is re arrange them, bestowing rhythm and a passion for life.
We are as explorers of the vastest ocean known to man.
We are those seeking beyond a world of illusion,
We are those that see more than there is to see.
Through expression we live, love the greatest
And most common expression of all.
A relationship with the Muse, great goddess of unseen night,
She who trails the midnight sun and shines so greatly still.
Through poetry we learn to love the life we live, but not only
Throughout poetry, through expression, dance, singing,
To laugh to play to enjoy the day and to seek all that
Can not be measured.
Measure me my love, measure me my ecstasy.