I, Myself. Constantine. A trailblazer. Making my mark, until tremors, quaking, and, a long lived aftershock. Got trapped, got sick, now, making my way home; to Torment. Manifested; off-track, lost, unfound, raging, bitter, twisted. And, sick. Obviously.
Disorientated, tranquil tornadoes, of, marauding memories, revolve statically; sarcastically whirling, with the sincerest, of all, ironies; like a Dervish, riding a languid carousel, a Dervish, named; ‘Constantine’. The inert twisters, carry, and, cast – concealed emotions, that are; born to seek death, that are; created to destroy.
The camouflaged saliences, are;
re -visited, re -worn, re -vealed;
‘In the stitching – a khirqa of shame, whispers, “guilt survives, long after, the dead, have been mourned.” As sorrow seeps, from, a blood-soaked; hood, cuffs, and, sleeves – where cloying, bloodthirsty tarmac, bore it’s teeth, causing shudders. Devouring all escapes, to salvation. And, after grasping, deep-down, in those, endless, cloak pockets, Mercy, was found slain. Smothered, by iniquity, concrete, rocks and rubble, as compassion is, demolished by dark, anguished, traumatic silences.’
Uncontrollable obedience – stagnantly spins, and, turns, soothing provocations, into, a, swooner’s consciousness. Hushed screeches vomit, teasing and tormenting; to mutilate… To massacre; a begging, bruised, exhausted, inner-sanctum.
A colourless draining. The colour is fading, from psyche’s cheeks, a liquidating; of shady pulp, of soft, once radiant, rainbow spattered, but, now, only; grey matters.
I, Myself. Constantine. A soggy, battered, quivering, hasbeen. An already; blazed trail. Long forgotten. Lying beneath, a superego’s ocean-jungle undergrowth, where there, once was, a long, plumed, dove-white robe. Overgrown, crestfallen, and, un-phren-dly; lying beneath, the forsaken waves, of; lost seas, past shocks and, cruel, convulsive, inclemencies.
To stand. In the shadows. Of greater men -talities; opaquely. Unbeknownst of the burden. Carried; within a silhouette; of gleaned knowledge.
Dusky, sagely tonnage, makes cerebra; camel-shaped. Combusting broken, humpy backs. Ignited; under straw, sewn, skins. By matchsticks, of sparked duress.
A fire then, lifts, in a burning rage, courtesy of, camel’s corpse; showing; Death, is only the beginning; of enlightenment. And, from; great tribulation, great pain, great loss. Cometh; infinite wisdom.
The miles travelled, within a, fleshed vessel, are; a measure of; insignificance… Within; the Creator’s multiverse. Just as, the bacterium’s rotating filament is; unnoticeable, trivial, paltry, to mankind’s eye.
A soul has no need to walk, only, to be, an impetus, for, the light, or, the dark. A journey to the realms of infinity, beckons. And, a destination; unknowingly preordained. Leaving; an unbeaten path; of universal footprints.
poorman'sdreams 