To The Rapture of Belial

 

 

 

Featured art by Cesare Longhi. Click title image to visit his studio.

 


The following performance is hard-hitting. Howbeit, the sole goal is to empower affirmative rewiring, myself never less than inclusive. To read between the lines is to deprive the point of the exercise. Having battled with self-doubt for many years, I’ve finally solved my own personal riddle. Will always still be learning, only now, with faith unshakable, thanks to my beloved chosen tribe, every one of whom I adore unconditionally. And, if I can empower just a single soul to break a chain or two this day, then not a solitary drop of me be spilled in vain.

 

 

Listen to Live Reading

 

 

 

Listen to Suggested Audio

 

The Sisters of Mercy “Lucretia My Reflection”

 

 

 

 

Society teaches us to be cynical
To be ruthless and clinical when our hearts are endangered
It’s merely human nature to protect ourselves from those within our range with the potential to be strangers
From tender age, they train us to send kisses back to sender with razor wire intent to tell the truth the way we see it
Claim back our retainer, should we see fit
I wish to show the world that there’s a pearl in certain oyster shells
A truth in certain eyes which kisses far more than it’s poised to tell
Unspoken is the dialogue of souls of shared diameters
Each monologue a travelogue of places in the mind declined parameters
We blunder forth like amateurs and plunder forts of all subconscious thoughts
Caught between the head lamps like tortured souls in death camps
We follow basic sketch maps formalized to lead to leg cramps
Waking lines designed to blind us as to Midas and demoralize us every time we stray from what they say defines us
Nothing timeless, sensitive to ties that bind our tiring limbs
Empty pockets, not a solitary pebble left to skim
Contacting our next of kins to phone our imperfections in
Expecting ointment for our stiffened joints and our infected skin
All the while we’re festering, our inner voices pestering
A thousand others lecturing of pinned on hopes sequestering
Surrendering our home advantage
Pending further fortunes slanting
Altered courses disenchanted
Horses with a blinkered vantage
Hurdles may well be advancing
Final furlong fast approaching
Inner monologue reproaching
No time left for inside dancing
Planting seeds of doubt while weeding out all keen devout
Delivering its curdled sermon from inverted mount
Less we do our best to bleed it out before it teases out the only valid reason to proceed without one cautious eye on treason
In the height of bleakened season, we can paint the broadest canvas
Frame each thought in daisy chains
Retrain our brains to chase away the fade away
I wish to lay awake in fields of seraphim not napalm
Of healing balm and bracelet charms
Tenor of a symphony of unspoken soliloquy of calm
May have had my heart-strings broken
Still my arms remain wide open
Done with going through each motion
Frozen to the spot
Never been my chosen lot to stop dead in my tracks
Been to hell, did rather well to make my own back
Sick of losing hub caps as I wheel spin in the mud tracks
Not about to cut slack to the voices predisposed to moan of cutbacks
Not about to pity me for that which principally should be acquitting me, permitting me sound reason to proceed
Thus, each time committee meets to sit and pass decree
I head off to the cemetery, bury heavy loads beneath the very oldest oak and sow below the seeds of hope
Feed them light and water, watch them grow
Even when I’m reeling, feeling lower than I ever thought I’d feel
I will not subscribe to what society deprives each time we silently defy each caustic spill
Judgement calls and some fool answers
Judging by the switchboard traffic
God forbid we act erratic
Panic rooms are manic tombs for static
Break the habit, buck the trend
Don’t just nod your head, please comprehend
Timeless tales need never ever end
They teach us the significance of vigilance specific to the quickening of closure
Granting scant exposure to the inner child with open eyes glazed over
Planting seeds of best self-doubt
Thickening our skin and thinning out our noble dreams
Broken reeds on frozen streams
Weeping sap like oaken beams
Handicapped by hopeless screams
Held back by denial
Society abstracts us as it jacks us into cheating polygraphs
Manufactured antitrust in bitter little vials
And all the while, to rapture of Belial
For Gods permit our capture
While all those deemed as Monsters stand in trial
We have to break the cycle spokes
Provoke a revolution
Not the war of bargain
But in everlasting hope of resolution
Stand naked in the freezing rain, wide open our contusions
Momentarily, our eyes will blacken
Howbeit, groping hands that choke our throats will duly slacken
Should we fashion faith of blindness from these places in our minds
Secret gardens leading back to childhood, stopping by at happy times
This is where we rewire every fraying nerve to center
This is where we fry up the placenta
This is where we venture forth with wealth of Viking pride
This is why we shall not be denied
It’s written in the white gold sands of time

 

 

 

 

 

Richard Charles Stevens

 

Keeper of the Crimson Quill

 

 

GREY KEEPER FRAME

 

Click here to purchase on Amazon

 

 

© Copyright: Rivers of Grue™

 

 

If you like what you've seen & read please feel free to share your thoughts with us!

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.