THE PROMISE

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THE EYE OF MAN

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THE EYE OF MAN

On the union of masculine and feminine energies. Poetry. Written in 2012. Edited 2022.

Kalisa Augustine
Aug 26, 2022
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THE EYE OF MAN

thepromise.substack.com
aerial photo of sea
Photo by USGS on Unsplash

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Medusa is

my middle name.

The Magdalene, my

maiden.

When man can meet

me in the

middle, he shall

find his place in heaven.

No longer will the

Dead Sea Scrolls

part far from you her

Wisdom.

For the blue eye of man is

open now;

such excuses are

forbidden.

There is no time.

You think it, here.

Yet you play him as a

slave. And now,

Time’s left your coddled heart.

Your jaded bed is made.

It’s not my work to make you

see— that you’re no less

than a King. For still you

lay in painted sheets

stripping feathers from your

wings.

Rise, young Jack,

and see my Sun shine down

upon your shield.

Your weapons here

no longer,

serve.

Thy Kingdom ye shall wield.

Yet, if you turn

unto the

Night, beware

her awesome power.

For darkness is my own

twin fate.

Though your tongue

may taste her sour.

Chew you down, she will—

throat and bone.

Smoke you fat, just like a blunt.

To face the Night,

become

higher fire.

Not the running, coward, runt.

And yet you think to play

Her.

Just like Time,

bending music strings

to suit

your parasitic pleasures

one by one, until the

Truth

becometh mute.

You’ll laugh and joke

just like the Jack who thinks

it’s all a game

to play dark-magick tricks

at such petty costs;

for what? To boost your name?

Or perhaps you want to

numb yourself.

Dumb down, like

an angry dunce

who deeply knows there’s

so much more.

How the soul is out to lunch.

Daemons tied your wrists round

back and you simply said, OK?

“Just give me more-

that poppy drink and

Master, I shall be your slave!”

The tools are there to

save your life and yet

you fear, and spit at

freedom!

For you know it not

and so you hide.

Ragdoll. Lifeless.

False seeking.

Is that what you are?

A toy, a pet? For shadows to pimp your seeing?

Are you the power given ‘way—

or the sword in stone for keeping?

And yet the fallen heirs,

they slither

with scaly skins and tongues

whispering, from silent ether—

tainting the holy ones.

Drink the drink

and let it roll.

What harm could my loss do?

It’s all such a gag, a loose carnival!

Oh no— they await your foolish moves.

They’ll dive inside your dunce-like

crown.

Make a prostitute-muse of you.

How can I call you King,

young Jack?

When rumors have been told—

you run ‘round backwards

hiding swords

my gangsters saw

you stole.

Real Ones light fires

to melt the metal and

bend it to their will.

They treat war as an art,

with grace. Using

swords where Justice kills.

For in me you saw a glimpse

of something foreign, something strange.

You saw that I am what you want.

But, Want is a fool’s game.

I am a Seer, a Queen,

young Jack. Your world is but my playpen.

I am the love I wish to meet.

There’s nothing here I’m missing.

If only your blue eye was wake,

your wisdom oaken carved.

You’d see I might Light the Path

to bring you home with Heart.

These laws are what they are,

my friend,

so awaken as you will.

I’ll be there waiting in serpent shadows

until this earth,

you till.

For I cannot make

it rain again to nourish

this parched land,

Until your phallic power stands

to hold my feline hand.

Fear not, a wounded

lion-heart that rests upon the

knave. The gift doth give me

powers great; and I shall keep your

fears at bay.

They call you King.

They give you gold.

And yet you cower in the Light.

And war will wage;

oh, the truth and rage.

Yes - a King shall know his right!

I say, a King shall know his right!

And in this battle for control

over eons of wandering time,

I know your Dark Lord well, indeed,

and I’ll tell you he knows mine.

He’ll say to cage me, and my sisters,

wrapping nymphet mouths tied

shut.

For he senses my powers
greater than yours.

Yes, a King shall know his right!

And in their warped endeavor to

conquer all once dear and holy,

they’ve mistaken me again,

young Jack, for

something quite less worthy.

Earth. Time. Races of Man.

The wheel, it keeps on turning.

But did you ever wonder

what churns the pain

that keeps redundancy burning?

I pray you do not teach again

what fathers taught their sons.

How will it change

unless you walk your

warzone? Self made guns.

Barbs and bombs. Torches of night.

It all came from your mind.

How will it change unless you

face the darkest of your

toils? Your own long night.

Baby’s breath. Then, onto

Glory’s spoils.

Ah, to sew your heart

right back into the colored

fabric of all life will

take a needle sharp enough to

puncture past your strife.

But let it burn and

sting and bleed, for you cannot

stop the tide.

I told you once that Time is gone.

Now, King, open your Blue Eye.

The mother, sister, wife,

and her blood, your

daughter’s sweet voice too,

awaits in Kali’s shadows, dears,

until you make your move.

Holding still, Great Mother’s world,

with muscles clenched so tight.

My jaw has trembled

o’er and o’er

just to make it

all alright. A weeping tear.

A peach in doom.

Just to make it all alright.

Sing with me, cry, my sisters,

it’s all to be alright.

Indigo Eyes please

open. Be the bravery that

sees the sweet flower petals

growing weary.

Your daughter’s knees are weak.

Stand with me,

All privates. Pricks. Parts.

Pieces. You who know the song!

For the Blue Eye of man hath opened now;

Hold my hand. This shant take long.

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