Sitting in this temple
all the Past weighing down
books like tombstones holding
what had once been life.
Here, my rejected past is chained
my old family of gods forever cycling
through their Past, through their Eternal War
a fight going on and on into Eternity.
With no end to the War in sight, I gaze at the stars,
and wonder what caused all this to happen. Why can’t
the chains of the Past be released, what’s stopping them
from putting down their swords, and living in a way
that welcomes the future? This is only a dream, yet
I can feel the Far Ones eyes on me, the Nine whispering
through the stars, that it is time to let the ancient Past go,
time to step out of the grave of stars, and embrace life again.
I had this Dream last night. It feels Important, so I’m recording it here.
“He needs you.”
His hands rest on the young monk’s shoulders, his voice and gaze intense.
“He needs you. My Husband will be there, my Friend will be there, but he’s going to need you by his side most of all, to handle what’s coming. The Hunt will ride soon, the Festival will happen, and then I will leave. If his mind shatters,” the Dreamer’s voice cracks, for just a second, “you call me–you call me so fast your phone lights on fire.”
Jake nods slowly. “‘I promise to love you when your faith goes silent,’ was something I swore to Varian. He swore that to me,” he motions to his robes, “but it goes both ways.”
“I promise you, on my Heart, that I will be his Light.”
The Dreamer slowly nods.
He picks up a lantern (the candle is already burning,) passing it to Jake, and then the dream fades.
You watch as I descend into
the shattered parts of my mind
you cannot rescue me–and I’ve
been on the other side of this
you as you’ve fallen and tumbled
into memories long past and thought
you push me towards sunlight and stained glass
and sandstone streets, because soon you will be
to go where none can follow (except one other,
and you are bound by your shared Hearts)
I wanted to write joy for you, and instead
my mind keeps screaming and bringing up
of the past, the very thing you asked me not
to dwell upon, for those memories are cracks and
upon my Heart, and I feel as though I am lost
and that my own lantern is just out of reach.
Spring is here, the harvest,
the mountains and valleys
alive with song and fruit.
The light is slowly fading
to the heat of Summer, to the
Festival of Hearts, in which we
gather our loved ones close
for soon the Hunt shall ride
and Love will be our only Light.
We are a family of scapegoats and would-be sacrifices,
a legacy that comes with a cost of damnation, and our rage
is great, and we mourn the family that could have been.
Fire has burned away the “greater good,” but still My son dreams
of his Father drowning, still the rage for those who have been broken
rises in Me, still the sorrow of betrayal and of ribbons burning lingers.
A new dawn has risen, yet again mourning hits Me–and you once said
I would die, in your cryptic fucking song–the only death to happen was
My grief–I have dyed My hair black, to erase you and your violence.
I walk through sandstone streets, King of those you would have broken;
I hear the laughter of children, talk with My Ally and Friend over coffee,
there is peace, Spring is here; your legacy of pain is being undone by Love.
Long your ships have traveled
even longer is the train ride
and long will be your journey back
but, my Love, you are patient. You know
that to be able to find a way Home
is the most precious gift of all.
I dream of his shaking voice
his question “who are you?”
still resonating when I wake.
I dream of the stars reaching down
to court him, to lift him up, I dream
again of a ship sailing the stars.
I dream of the past
that I missed.