Immortal Musings

by Bard Constantine

  Orbits

  The day was dark and

  blustery, so I frowned

  at the encounter.

  But soon I came around,

  unbound and grateful

  that I found her. Or she

  found me, debate

  that later, for I was at her

  tip, a waiter.

  And so I weighed her

  coolly, calculating in my

  mental, and smoothly asked

  permission to pollute her mind

  like menthol.

  She said she liked her

  men tall; I was close but I

  was shorter. Still in short

  I changed her swift opinion like an

  order. And in due time, my

  mind confined her preying

  for forgiveness.

  For every word was

  cognac smooth, like gifts

  upon her wish list.

  And I was Jack Be Nimble,

  nimbly dodging her

  surmises,

  for inquiring eyes disguise

  the lies we write into our

  diaries. And we can say

  the way we feel when

  caught up in the

  instant;

  but instants pass like

  grass under the

  lawnmower of

  distance.

  As so we

  disconnected;

  time rejected our

  collision, our

  orbits

  realigned, designed

  with singular

  precision…

  Selene

  Selene, rise and sing to me

  as you emerge from

  the seven seas: renewal,

  rebirth, eternal youth yours.

  I shun Helios, leave him his

  blinding light, his fiery chariot

  scalds my eyes. But you, you

  are what a blind man longs for

  when he dreams of color; you

  are the divine equation of

  mathematics,

  if a sum of beauty could be found.

  Towering giants block my view,

  try to impress me with their

  mortal design,

  and these prattling mortals contented with their

  phosphorous, their artificial imitation of

  the splendor that is you, Selene.

  They rejoice in the barren celebration

  of their godhood, while I scorn them

  from the shadows.

  For how could they forget your

  beauty, your silver chariot crossing

  the lavender skyway, surrounded by

  the Menae, daughters true;

  though you outshine them all.

  Daughter of Pallas, come to me;

  soak me in your shimmering tresses.

  Remove your veil

  teasingly;

  night by night until

  we see face to face, until

  I can stand before you,

  basking in your light until the morning

  chases us away…

  Moments

  Moments like these

  are so hard to find;

  like diamond teardrops

  suspended in time.

  Like tearing a hole

  through the fabric of space

  to see once again

  the magic of your face.

  Like skating across

  sheets of ice and of fire;

  how so I dread

  and how so I desire.

  Moments like these

  ghost upon solar winds;

  how my heart longs

  to have them once again.

  The Fall

  They Fall when the wind blows…

  bodies

  pirouette in unhurried motion,

  they topple

  in myriads too numerous to

  tally.

  Immortal evergreens sigh

  mournfully as they observe the

  fields of the dead, the

  corpses of their brethren who

  pay the price for their

  indulgence.

  The smell of winter

  perfumes the air, the

  day of reckoning is

  at hand. Witness the

  Fall;

  the crimson orange shades of

  the phoenix sunset,

  the pungent scent of freshly

  overturned earth, the

  vision of bodies that

  plummet

  from a sky thick with

  unfulfilled snow…

  Winter Dies

  Old Man Winter died in my arms

  today, wracked by throes of agony.

  He told me in a choking whisper that

  no one appreciated him, understood

  that what he did was magic, was

  just as beautiful as Spring.

  With his glacial eyes melting

  into teardrops,

  he gave a final gasp, and whispered,

  “Remember me.”

  And like that, he was gone,

  his body rent apart by

  vines, by newborn flowers that tore

  through his chest; and from his

  gaping mouth emerged an eager flood

  of insects and creeping things.

  I felt a presence then, a

  sense of rebirth fouling the air;

  I turned, and there in the light

  of a glorious sun

  stood his murderer,

  Spring.

  Innerspace

  He believed in

  self destruction, ate his fingers

  till they bled;

  dismissed the mass consumption,

  all the witless words

  they said.

  For he was strangely different;

  glassy eyes stared through them all;

  an introvert eccentric

  who would swim toward

  the squall, and in the eye of

  maelstroms he would find

  his peace of mind; or pieces

  of designed confinements

  freed and so sublime.

  For he only felt complete at

  unaccompanied occasions,

  the times alone indulged in

  narcissistic celebration, and

  in his exploration he

  would delve into the Void;

  the Abyss that held his

  nothing, emptiness that

  he enjoyed, and in his

  introspection he saw

  karma in his stare;

  the ghosts of those abandoned,

  left behind without a care.

  So he returned, his dreams he

  burned upon the mountaintop,

  forlorn and ever haunted by

  the self that

  he forgot…

  King of Lonely

  I open my lips, to utter something

  profound, some new deliberation

  that I harnessed from the cyclone

  of ideas in my mind, but

  I remember;

  there is no one to share,

  no one to whom I can

  relate.

  I walk alone in a world full of

  fire, ice, and teardrops;

  a sorcerer king

  in a empire of ghosts,

  viewing the real world

  where the trees are green,

  and the air smells of strawberries

  and good intentions

  only through a frosted mirror,

  a doorway of dreams

  that I dare not traverse.

  For I dream no more,

  nor do I entertain fancies;

  I perch on my throne like

  a raven on a grave,

  my misery complete, my

  depression

  intact, my cloak of

  self-derision settled upon my shoulders.

  And I say not a word
,

  only think of these dark thoughts,

  exiled in this self-constructed prison,

  the dictator of solitude,

  missing you.

  Victim

  If I were to stab myself for

  every genuine smile, every hand

  extended as I wallowed in

  the Abyss

  of despair and misguided notions,

  I’d be the epitome of perfect physical condition, the

  airbrushed billboard of muscular

  modeled underwear.

  But my scars are from fire, from

  the impotent fury

  of those who should have built shelters

  from the rain, from the tortures

  of this ugly existence.

  I held no free pass, no

  golden ticket to the gates of love;

  no choice but to walk the

  broken streets, to face the

  predators

  who taught me the lessons of life

  as I lay in pools of my own

  blood.

  No tears, for they are the

  luxury of those who

  are blessed with arms to run to.

  I became steel to feel no pain,

  and tundra on the inside,

  for it is better to feel nothing

  than to hang on meat hooks

  screaming

  while the masses pass by with

  blindfolds on

  and smiling masks upon their faces.

  So when you look in my eyes,

  and see the shadow of the monster;

  please

  leave me to my darkness, for

  I never had the chance to choose;

  I never had a choice at all.

  Quivers

  Written with Victoria Selene Sky Deme

  Her pain

  resonated

  like the strumming of electric

  guitar strings, and

  rippled across the angry sea to

  the blackened shore where

  my body lay,

  long abandoned;

  bleeding

  onyx wine into fine white grains

  of sand filled

  with memorials of memories.

  She crawled out of the sea foam

  in a red wedding gown, torn

  at the shoulders;

  the lace mask across her eyes

  bleeding

  down her cheeks

  as the sun above inverted

  the inevitability, the

  doom of a thousand ages, the

  feedback from a thousand lies,

  a thousand heads of Hydra

  hissing;

  but…

  stirring on the winds, a sound;

  like the howling of the souls of wolves

  who stalk on dreams

  and shake the noise

  of human chatter from their teeth;

  against a lake of alloy fires that singe

  humanity from rage to bliss.

  The ungirl danced a ring

  around a world steeped deep in sin;

  and the inhuman waved his

  crimson hands and darkness

  swelled; the sea blackened like

  boiled blood, the

  locusts fell like rain, and

  devoured

  the world in their disgust, as

  wolves stalked the forests, and

  eagles soared across the skye;

  and at Window Rock, all

  was left was she and I…

  Walk Away

  Walk away, walk away,

  sighed the wind that rustled in the

  trees

  as the rain like liquid teardrops

  bled upon my face.

  The wounded, neglected, weary

  spirit within me groaned;

  my lonely heartbeat quivered like

  a child’s abandoned silver

  rattle.

  Scorned and listless, scarred and

  fallen;

  how I’ve come to know the truth, the

  bitter fruit of

  force-fed knowledge, the

  loveless, trustless, forgotten race who

  go forth blind and wandering, filled

  with the helium of self-importance, while

  ignorant of the designs of Death.

  Walk away, walk away,

  roared the flames as in their greed they

  swallowed up the world;

  Walk away, walk away…

  The earth burns bright today…

  Dark Lord

  Wilderness

  across my eyes;

  fire searing

  ‘cross the skies.

  Heavens toppled,

  worlds destroyed;

  laughing, I am

  overjoyed.

  Time

  I’ve watched dying stars

  collapse

  from the mystery of space,

  seen mushrooms sprout as

  tribute to the forgotten,

  and mushroom clouds blast entire

  cities into oblivion.

  I’ve seen fires eat the world in

  their anger, seen the oceans stilled;

  without a ripple for as far as the eye

  could see.

  On top of cloud-capped mountains I’ve

  wept myself unconscious,

  seen towers crumble, and bodies

  plummet

  to the mystery of death.

  Dust and ashes are the inheritance

  of both kings and paupers;

  the Conqueror Worm lies in wait,

  the last companion we’ll ever know.

  And all the things seen,

  every memory and wasted dream

  will be eaten, distilled

  and returned to the dust;

  just another body fallen,

  gradually turned to sunlight

  by the never-ending, slowly grinding,

  inexhaustible

  wheels of Time.

  To Fly

  I must stay away from ledges

  because temptation is too great

  for me to soar over the edge,

  to try to circumvent my Fate.

  I’d like to sail for just one moment,

  to feel the cool breeze kiss my face;

  before the pull of gravity

  a mortal moment I would taste.

  I’d like to feel the weightlessness

  before my body hits the ground,

  before my fantasy of death

  just like my dreams come

  crashing down.

  I must stay away from ledges

  because I’m not afraid to die;

  to leap into that great expanse

  and for a single moment…

  fly.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  When Bard Constantine isn’t taking himself far too seriously, he’s usually writing tales involving gritty futures and far-flung fantasy. Further info on his novels and current projects can be found online on Facebook, Twitter, and his personal website, bardconstantine.com. This is his first volume of poetic works.

  More by the Bard

  The Aberration

  When a freak storm engulfs a flourmill, the workers learn quickly that there is much more to fear than just heavy rain.

  The Troubleshooter: New Haven Blues

  30’s noir meets science fiction in this action packed tale of a man whose job description is shooting trouble.

  Looking For More Poetry? Look No Further.

  Unfairy Tales From Underland

  Selene has made an art form out of taking her broken and fragmented pieces, cleaning, polishing, and faceting them into fine jewels before slicing open your heart with them.

  Marie Laveau’s Hot Pink Hearse

  David’s poetry and prose are epic mini-plays with the theater being the imagination of the reader.

  Thank you…

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  Bard Constantine, Immortal Musings