Currents of Darkness

From: golden3000997
Date: Sat Jan 10, 2004 12:45 pm
Subject: Currents of Darkness

And now, a word from our Double:

Excerpts from "Currents of Darkness" the chapbook I haven't shown you all yet:


We Must Shed Tears

We must shed tears
For all the times
Our lives confront us
With broken lines
And leave us faceless
Against a wall
And force us to wander
In spaceless halls.

We must shed tears
For sunless dawns
And loveless voices
And tuneless songs,
For all the shadows
Of childhood ghosts
And all the wingless
Celestial hosts.

We must shed tears
For cracked facades
Decaying walls
And lost aubades,
For all we never
Were and knew
For joyful notes
That were so few.


A Child Dies

Some say that childhood is golden,
As it well may be
But I have seen the gold well hidden
And racked by infant pain unbidden
Through ghostly terrors in the night
Which only infant eyes could see.

What happens when a world of darkness
Encroaches on the angel's land
And drives away the sun of morning
Without a signal or a warning
(With only symbols lost to sight)
Destroys the child in its hand?

This world is full of dying children
Who feel the weight of fear
Yet who, with courage uncomplaining
Turn with faces free of blaming
Only asking for the right
To speak to life with infant voices clear,

And whisper to the world a message
Recorded in the stars
That all a lifetime's broken promise
All the undeveloped eagerness
Will find its way back to a world made bright
When human hate this world no longer mars.

And when at last the torture passes
And peace is found in death
Those whose weakened hearts are breaking
By the child will be brought to waking
When slow and dim their eyes see Heaven's light
And from the other side they draw a golden breath.


The Panther

I took my little Christopher
On an outing to the zoo.
We saw elephants and hippos
And a baby kangaroo;

We saw otters and flamingoes
And sleeping polar bears;
There were ostriches and llamas
And the lions in their lairs.

The monkeys all were silly
As they swung from tree to tree;
The gorillas looked as if they thought
They should be looking in at me.

But then I saw a panther
And the joy within me froze -
He slept upon a caged, dead tree
In sullen, black repose.

There was no life within that cage,
Except within his breast
And all the fire of Africa
Was tamely seen at rest.

The floor was hard and cold and bare,
The bars were black and high.
No other living thing was there,
Just people passing by.

The tree was dead, as I have said,
The panther on it lay,
His paws hung down so listlessly
There was no room for play.

There was no room for running free
The wild beast was trapped.
His yellow eyes glowed out at us,
The life within him sapped.

Oh what will be the price for us
Who cage the creatures wild -
Who treat the royal majesty
As a plaything for a child?

I wished to set him free again
To prowl through shade and sun;
But as I turned, I realized
The damage had been done.



I look into your eyes and see
Another homeless refugee.
Our souls have wandered long and far
Past empty countries under bars;

In courseless ships adrift on sea
We sail for unmarked boundaries;
We ride the ghostly midnight trains
On tracks that double back again.

To leave behind the crumbled past,
The burned out shapes that could not last,
You fled and bore no other sack
But nightmares clinging to your back.

For these cannot be left behind -
They mark our footsteps as they wind
And call to us our fearsome fate
Which turns our fragile love to hate.

I too have left the world behind -
The ruined country of my mind.
My rags are shreds of blackbird wings
I bind my feet with broken strings

I walk with others, tired and weak
No longer knowing what we seek,
No longer seeing what we pass,
A filthy, hungry human mass.

Our eyes have met along the way
But nothing's left for us to say,
No human warmth can waken whole
The frozen refuge of the soul.



Ever since I was thirteen
I have watched for you.
I know, I have always known
No mortal man could ever do or give
Me what I have always wanted.

Sighing in the pale moon's light,
My white nightgown fluttering
In the breeze,
By the open window waiting,

I called to you, across the night,
The stars whispered my longing
To each other -
You heard, you knew,
You always knew,
And were just waiting for me
To be ready;

Waiting until my desire had grown
Large enough to receive
Your power and your glory.
Then, one night, by the open window,
Among the trees you came -

Dark and shining with the glow
Of the love of hell
You came to me
And held me in your arms.
In a silence born of joy
And not of fear,
I received your will and surrendered
My own.

The seasons come and go -
You come with the fallen leaves
And silent snow.
You come in the spring
With a crown of flowers
That burn like none
From a simple garden.

You come in midsummer
And dance me into darkness
And overcome me
Again and again.

And though much time has passed
And to the world
I am growing old -
At midnight
Time unties itself
And I stand, clear and radiant
With no beauty lost.

And when my time has come,
To leave a world
I have long been weary of
And sick unto death of
Its stale smell and pale face,
I will fly into your arms
For a final time;
And you will carry me joyfully,
Ever young and burning,
Small and silent in my
White nightgown, down
To the gates of hell.


Currents of Darkness

The words slid past me into the inner sanctum
Which we all use for our maladjustment
I knew now why the famous habeas corpus
Had become so decadent
And why the painted virgins saw, but
Could not speak

The line of sleep fosters disenchantment
For all worlds of carrying suspicion.
Without our yearning for the lower regions
Our white winged hoofs would collide
With the darkness.

The melting of humours against the night
Leads forever around the banal criticism of hope.
We are going, not through the charnel
But rather, under the currents of darkness.

Freedom is thought to be behind the circumstance
Of force, and ahead of the illuminating
Gratitude of ferocity.
You know as well as I, that without the
Insipid revelations we would starve.

We run aground beyond the midst
Of foreshadowing hate
And laugh to find ourselves without
True distance or despair.
We cannot discover the turbulent heart
Until we have seen forty vulture
Canopies without wings.

Fast grows the tide - abounding current
Forthright shape of tenuous derision.
Who could have raced the stinking foam
To the dawn of brilliant intelligence?

Lethal caverns do not hide our
Fully developed morbidity.
Our responsibility lies in this -
Only to shatter all their false
Dogmatic virtues.
There is no bridge of rancour.

Christine Natale 3000 All Rights Reserved


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