Author Topic: Lamentation  (Read 2134 times)

Elven Doritos

  • Yrthak
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« on: May 01, 2018, 11:59:17 AM »
Beware that cousin death, who makes himself a stranger until he needs of you—his tidings never welcome, his presence tolerated only out of courtesy.  Where once his visits inconvenienced me, I now watch closely for his shadow

My daughter takes her first breath.  And then, she screams – the aches of bones and blood, the cold terror of the world, the razor-light flourescence – how she must long for the comforts of her kingdom long abandoned

I am here, in the bones of the leviathan – the empire of my own making – until the sands sweep over my creation – I dig and dig and dig, for this mighty beast was once my craft – oh, to be a god again, immortal, all-consuming, all-creating, who with snap of finger can reorder worlds themselves—

My daughter takes her first breath.  And then, I scream – I fear – I dread – I dared to hope, my hope turned sour like the breath of wine-drunk lingerers who creep across the floor – I have no armor, no sword, no army, no power to protect her – when all the world is swords and slashing, how to raise her righteously?

Sister Sorrow grey-streaked dreaming dancing under eyelids of almighties – she with widow-peaks visits only offers when cracks of tombs have relinquished her, have revenged themselves upon her spirit—she knows I am not real; she knows I am not sorry; she knows I am not here

My daughter takes her first breath.  How can this be?  What father proceeds from fatherlessness?  The coward’s blood runs in my veins; and so it must in hers.  What if I, like he, am hollow – what if I, like he, would run? What chaos bubbles inside me?  What marks has that claw left?  What wounds?  What weapons?

Why has my father forsaken me?  Do I bear the stain of his curse?

A crack of black lightning as I splay myself again – manufacture the next model of my mask – and know that life itself is fleeting – the dim candle in the unlit vault – our life a pyre, a signal-beam by which our children light their way – how I long to be a forest fire

Life presents itself – and so I wear its raiments, I sing its hymns, I pray to empty altars – and I fix my mask onto my broken clockwork.  For must we not be who we should, and not who we are?

I hold my daughter in my arms – joyful and afraid – and limp toward the answer
Oh, how we danced and we swallowed the night
For it was all ripe for dreaming
Oh, how we danced away all of the lights
We've always been out of our minds
-Tom Waits, Rain Dogs


  • Squark
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Re: Lamentation
« Reply #1 on: May 03, 2018, 08:03:27 PM »
So this is you, and your actual daughter? I mean, congrats, man, but, at the same time... damn.

Thanks for sharing it with us.