THE EYE OF MAN
THE EYE OF MAN
On the union of masculine and feminine energies. Poetry. Written in 2012. Edited 2022.
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.