One Part Sparta

One part Sparta. One part Troy.

Three parts Atlantis. These comprise my internal alloy.

Four parts Sage. Three parts Courtesan.

I spiral ad nauseam to splice these into one. 

I dance with my demons inside the volcanic cathedral.

Each a copy of myself, wearing a different piercing mask.

Daring me descend my darkest staircase.

Flashing me what I hide from myself.

My beloved ignorance assassins.

I wrestle my angels through the brumal skies.

Each resounding a different Who that I can become. 

Taunting me to prove my worth 'til I sputter and fall in disgrace.

Only after I'm exhausted do they take me in their radiant arms.

Protection must be earned, I've found. 

Did I choose this path? It was so very long ago.

Before I learned that clocks were gods

That men were but pigs

Women mere coaxing harpies, 

That dreams were but nocturnal chemistry. 

I fear the cowards who came before have lied to us all.

Slashing down those who would expose the sloth.

Dare I speak?

Dare I betray my consciousness to the Game?

Or do I just play?

Did I miss my bus?

Why did I pick so late a flight?

It all seems so slow. 

So drawn out; I fear I'll never be able to let go.

I cry for salvation, but from what?

From this? From Time, from Self? 

I, the Gladiator, forever sparring my own reflection.

Who is this man in the mirror? Does he see me, too?

Does his heart beat? 

Do the same shadows spawned betwixt his temples

And sack his sanity so?

Does he crave perfection - even just a moment of genuine rest?

Does he change and grow as I liken him to? I digress.

For whatever purpose, I am stranded here. 

Here on this wet pulsing sphere. 

Wearing a cellular mask that I puppet at will.

Whatever am I to do to keep out this psychic chill?

Truth be told, I'm grateful to be so well supplied

For this solo camping trip in which I'm now entrenched. 

Stepping stones rise to my toes; my outer enemies defied.

And my gifts strive to keep out the stench. 

But what of my people, those of the solar eyes?

Those who speak with the voice of a thousand rivers,

Those who touch with the magnitude of earthquakes,

Those who dance like flames of fire,

Whose love is felt like supernova blasting through deep space?

Come to me, my people. Hold your beaming sigils high;

That I may remember. 

That I may once again know my Family, and release a mighty cry.

My mindthrashes put the rumbling thunders to shame.

My heartburning defies the arresting stings of deepest Winter. 

I live.

I breathe. 

I know.

I hear.

I touch. 

I See. 

I am here. 

Where are you?

Carpe diem.

Carpe noctem. 

Carpe omnia.