I dream of antlers tucked to my back
and wake to an empty space in my bed–
why now, oh Prince? It is not yet Summer
not yet time for your Transformation, for
your Descent, nowhere near time for your Rising–
this drop of information told me something I knew
was coming; much sooner than usual–it is not even Spring–
I’ve been thinking about a card this god gave me in an outside reading, the two of Cups. I have a feeling it’s connected to the Eye Thing I have going on, so I decided to write a poem to explore it.
“On my right, so I can see you.”
You say as we walk through
volcanoes and valleys.
“There’s a problem there,” I reply
holding up my own cane, “I’m blind
in my left eye.” An unfortunate accident
at birth, a snapped retina that cannot be healed.
“Then we face each other,” you reply, “wasn’t that
what you wanted all along? No lies or trickery, no
masking our agendas as the ‘greater good’.”
You’re a contradiction of a King, blind after the world
has ended, yet so young and not weighed down by
burdens of thousands of years of Ruling. You spin
your cane as I think, allowing me silence, and for that
I am grateful. There is pressure but it is all my own Heart,
all my own fear and rage and panic. You’ve agreed to formality,
and that is enough to calm my irrational thoughts as they scream
that you are the Tower, that you will burn everything down;
you are not the Star–you are showing me that I still hold the Star
that the Evening Star is still in my trembling Heart, even after
all that has happened, you are showing that Hope still lives on.
I used to think your Love was brutal,
that you wanted my Heart ripped
to shreds and stitched back together
in the name of Love and marriage.
No, dearest one. You thought that devotion
meant being on fire and running yourself ragged,
that giving me your Heart meant bringing yourself
down in order to lift me up; I won’t stand for that
anymore; I never did, you know that now, my Beloved.
Looking back I see that now, but when being “on fire”
was the “proper” way to worship a god, when the way to
be married to one was to sacrifice and give everything–
What, I’m supposed to push all your limits? Test all your fears
for the “greater good” of your well being? Make myself the center of
your very world–when you were never given that space to yourself?
Your Heart is not my canvas to paint upon, dearest one, it is your own.
My anxiety is screaming at me, that you’re supposed to turn harsh–
you look so confused–that you’re going to be angry at me for “failing”–
I’ve been away, dearest one; why the fuck would I care what you did when
I’m gone? You’re handling yourself well, you’re smiling, you’re happy. You’ve
surrounded yourself with friends and family, you know now you’re not alone.
I once thought loving you was supposed to hurt–but now I know it isn’t.
Pain never comes from true love, dearest one.
We are not a tragedy, my Dark Star.
For the King of All Darkness
Steady are your hands as you build Darkness up,
tearing things down does nothing but hasten
endings. Spring is slowly coming towards us
all, and there are new joys and new loves to be
discovered. Change hit Darkness fast, but now
fissures have been smoothed over–not repaired with
another type of gilded paint, but with Justice that is
smooth and concrete. In your steadfastness, all are
truly welcome in your Kingdom, and lifted up by you.
This poem is to process all the Things that are going on Over There right now, especially in regards to my Kingship path.
My friend of silver feathers–what
do we do now, with all this–rushing
down upon our heads? Free Will is a
Pillar of Darkness, and yet…I’m terrified
this is nothing more than Fate haunting Me.
I don’t even know what to say
to this, other than what the fuck.
It’s all lining up a little bit too
perfectly; you found your family and
I stumbled into the very Crown that
My “father” would have given Me
had he drowned Me in the River.
I’m laughing at the irony of this, but…
I’m worried it’s to hold back a scream.
My heritage has caught up with me
that corrupted crown of greed and gold
passed unwittingly from father to son;
but my hair screams chaos, violence,
slaughter and upheaval, an ending hidden
and gilded in the excuse of the “greater good.”
This is not a duality you want; I am a living contradiction,
a walking reminder of your pain and everything you
fled from, a blend of the worst traits of two brothers.
I am sorry. I promise you
(on my Heart, I swear to you)
that you are Home, you are free
and that I will be a better King
than the one you fled across the
stars (such a long Journey) to escape.
My love is not a puzzle
with pieces missing,
it does not hold extra
dimensions of depth,
sex is not another layer
that gives something a shape–
geometry was never
my strongest subject,
but, a structure does not
collapse over something that was
to begin with.