Legion

Children Of Abraham
(A Message for Moshe)

Moshe,
May you grow to understand
That all the children of Abraham
Have failed in their Father’s eyes.
Each,
By their own design,
Believe that their way to be divine
And death for those they despise.
Think
Before you retaliate.
Fail to emancipate
The hatred that you will grow into.
Peace
Must come from within
Before you can begin
To relinquish the anger that you will hold onto.
Beget
Not the pain foolish, prideful men created
As they changed your innocence, now faded.
Leaving your parents’ blood running cold.
Stop
And spread no further distress.
This cycle you must repress
When the urge to strike back takes hold.
Moshe,
Let Abraham sleep peacefully.
Do not live your life vengefully.
Remember always, but do not react.
Teach
His children and show them humanity
And perhaps someday, through your humility,
You will give them what they’ve forgotten back.

Legion
1DEC08

Lilith Discarded
(The Aftermath)

Poetry
In emotion,
Caught up in
Enigma.
Carnal
In devotion,
Devised in your
Desire.
Languish
In affection,
Wrapped up in
Embrace.

I thirst for the knowledge
That flows freely from your tree.
Lips upon your pulse,
Come, whisper it to me!

Turned
In temptation
Shadowed in your
Soul.
Used
In expectation,
Enflamed by your
Excitement.
Cursed
In condemnation,
Crafted by your
Callousness.

I thirsted for the knowledge
That flowed freely from your tree.
Lips pulled from your pulse
And now you deviate from me.

Darkened
In destitution,
Chastised by your
Banishment.
Discarded
In derision.
Chastened in your
Chagrin.
Twisted
In trepidation,
God’s curse in your
Garden.

I thirst for the knowledge
That flows freely in your veins.
Lips upon your pulse.
Blood upon my fangs.

Fed upon your fellowship
And swallowed all your seed.
Succulent was your sacrament.
This succubus did feed.

Legion
24May08

She Likes Poultry

My gal she lieks dat poultry
Always readin up on da stuff
Books an ledders frum lubbers
She jest cant git enuff
Shookspare wid his
Rumao an Julia
And Darndes Inburno
She says will do ya
Bud her favoright
Ov all dat poultry
Is wun wridden
By her won an onlee

Sew take dat all you
Wridders ov poultry
Wid ur witz and ur wurds
Hur hard belones
Two me onlee
Cause mie poultry makes us lub burds

Legion
30June08

A Day in the Life of A Urinal Cake

Lying here at the bottom
Of a porcelain contraption,
Contemplating dangling particples
And their misdirections.
Wondering of worms
With their python ambitions.
Sounds of spanking monkeys
And the choking of chickens.
Cocked guns aimed
With one eye in my direction.
Spelling of names
Without the quotations.
A shake and flip,
Three times more, it’s masturbation.
And now I find myself
Covered by its urination.
But it’s better here than the toilet
Full of defecation.

Legion
01Mar07

Last edited by Legion on August 7, 2011, 7:12 am

Daedulus Ponders

I. Desperation
Daedulus ponders.
His enigma stares
Blatantly back
Into the face of oblivion.
Icarus plays,
Blissfully,
In the corner;
Oblivious of the future.

II. Contemplation
Daedulus ponders
The peregrine that fluctuates
On currents that cradle
The framework of bones and feathers.
Icarus gazes,
Apathetically,
Through the window
Of imprisonment.

III. Fabrication
Daedulus ponders
The anatomical differences;
Calibrates and constructs
The dream of man and men.
Icarus sleeps,
Unaware of the repercussion
His father’s vision
Will impact upon humankind.

IV. Realization
Daedulus ponders
The distance of the alien shore,
Calculates speed and time,
And soars!
Icarus sways
Toward the eye of God,
Falters and plummets,
In folly;
Like words of a father
On feeble ears.

V. Isolation
Daedulus ponders
A beach beneath his feet,
And Icarus, gone
Beneath the sea.

Legion
(circa 1996)

Defensive Positions

The cannons bellowed
With mouths spewing oblonged obscenities.
Hurling bullets of blasphemies
To strike down the offensive enemy.
Smoke (whisps of words) plumed
Across the sky of this hearthly invasion
Dropping acidic toxins conceived for devastation,
Caught up only in self-preservation.
Hearts bleeding out, emotions unbridled
Catering to weapons of destruction.
Words meant as ammunition
Fired with apprehensible intention.
Striking behind lines once shared.
Now sharing in a mortared rage.
Broken is the union caught within this rampage,
This onslaught continues uncaged.
A victor, with shallowed finality, finds victory
But no consolation,
Only a fruitless condemnation
And a white flag tainted with subjugation.

Legion
31JAN09

Blood of the Scarecrow

She tills the fields of regret
As a whisper of a woman scorned.
Thoughts grown she’d rather forget
Of love’s ambition never born.
No reciprocation of her toil.
The man would not give willingly.
Blood stains saturated the soil
As his heart was taken literally.
Carving pumpkins into his chest
To keep the piece she wanted most.
The rotting shell, a scarecrow at best,
Dangling lifelessly upon his post,
Thus frightening off the feelings denied.
So question how does this garden grow
When all happiness has withered and died?
When planting only seeds of sorrow
Weeds and worries are all that will bloom.
Stalks the mind, high in the garden’s rows.
This harvest reaped, once sown way too soon,
Ripened in the blood of the scarecrow.

Legion
25July08

Last edited by Legion on August 5, 2011, 8:41 pm

A Muse Me

Thus, in the end,
It comes down to this word.
A word in a world that would wound,
Wound and bound about a token form and taken from
That which is a whisper
Screaming silently
Though softly, thought tough
In its interpretation.

It is this interrelation
Within which
We wallow
In the shallowness of mediocrity
Or swallow
The profundity of grandiosity.
Profound!

Yet, I stand not before you
But within you
Submitting this entreaty.
A request,
Repast for thought perhaps,
Simple and simply a supplication.

One word
Bartered
For the creativity of the quill
And the craving
Of the ravenous parchment
That demanded to be filled,
Sated
With only that which the written word
Could fulfill.
A sustenance
Of substance
This melancholic muse
Mustered forth
As you deciphered
The cipher
Of my mental missive.

So, in the end,
Once again
It comes down to this word.

Life!

I crave
What I have never known
But have delivered
Time granted and time unmeasured.
Pulled from the womb of thought,
Birthing the invention
Of its inception.
Harvested the seed of imagination
Gathered through the dust of dreams
Fertilized by the clay of humanity.
A humanity that I desire.
Deserve!
Demand!

With this thought in mind,
Help me or humour me.

Take pen in hand
And once more,
Across the page,
You must strike
With ink to build
The blood and bone
I must become.

Fabricate my flesh.
Fashion a form.
Craft this character.
Create the construct.

And then
Amuse me to…

…Life!

Legion
22JAN11

Memories Chained
(Within the Darkness A Legion Waits)
　
Enraptured by self-pity and prozac,
Life’s poetry and prose became subjugated.
Compassion soured with corruption,
As indulgence was championed – advocated.

We became mired
Between and beneath
The past and the future.
The distance ‘tween the two
Burdened our perception
Of the here and now.
We could not glimpse
Our humanity
As it succumbed,
A victim of our dying piety,
Hidden within pixels
And plastics
That were hailed
As our saviour,
That which would connect and bring closer,
But,
As the horror of reality reached its closure,
Separated and divided
Not only from those moments physical
But emotional as well as that deemed spiritual.
In effect,
We became the doppelganger
Of what we once sought to be.
An image translucent,
Seen soulless
Staring back from an electric glow
Eclectically reaching
For cohesion
But only finding futility
In our lack of ability
For adhesion.

How our words failed
And wisdom faltered
When what we stood for
Stumbled,
Crumbled
Into catechisms
Alienated by contempt,
Conformity and convenience.

Within those shadows
Betwixt the dream we shared
And the nightmare we now live
Dwell the souls lost,
Left behind,
An intangible mass
Behind the glass
Struggling for composure,
For palpability.
Bound by our culpability,
Within the darkness,
A legion waits.

Littered about our necks,
Memories chained.
A rosary caressed,
Worn with disdain.

Legion
23JAN10