Rumblings

More of the same. I can never tell if this is something good or mere blather. You be the judge.

This is a fairytale, a
Frantic fracturing of fumbling fables with
Manic metaphors and malicious magnanimity.
Ye yo-yos yearn for youth, and yell out your
Dirty deluge, and dig deep into death's dark
Shadow and shame, showering silhouettes with
Favors forgotten by fortunate fiends. For
Love is like life, and that life is the light of
Hearts hollowed whole by hated happenings,
Crushed to contain the cold concoction of
Primeval perdition. Please place all passes in the
Fire and flames, for foolishness is forged into
Righteousness, a revolution that rights all religion, and
Wakes weary wanderers from witless whims and
Brings beneath the billows the bleeding benevolence of
All-out altruism, augmented by adversity,
Sealed with sweet sounds of savor and
Favor from fearful figures that form forever the
Line lost to love and life, lifted to larger
Horizons, heaved unto hope half-heartedly
Known by the know-nothings of night knolls
That think to trap the tempest and tapestry of time in tragedy so
Divine and delicious that deeds are dumb to deliver the
Full flavor and fantasy of fulfilled fortune and
Mystery mingled with mirth and men. Memory
Calls the cold killers of childhood to catch a
Sight of seamless sounds and syllables sent sailing on
Wind and wave, wishes and whims, the water and the
Blood boiling with big business, bouncing with
Glee over golden gaps that grow with gladness,
Till the tricks and traps of timeless torture are
Lost to love and life and light let loose upon
Mere mortal malformities. Might
Cannot count the cost, cannot crawl with care, cannot
Violate vile volition, a victim of vicious vivisections and
Delusions done by deaf dealers of darkness and
Night. No one knows the new news nailed to
Every earthly enclave and encampment, except the
Still small simpletons who sold their souls for a
Cup of cold crimson cleanser, curiously cured of
Old oddities, and offered as obligatory oblation to
The towering terror that tells all tales with truth and
Beauty bound with bonds broken by
None. Never near to nothing, the Neverland nuisance
Mesmerizes our meek mimics and murmurs, until
Every evil incantation is evicted, and enlightened
Plowmen park their perilous psalms in praise of power
Fallen in form, fearless in feature, fathomless in fact.
Lift lightly your lithe limbs and limber loves, and
Sing with sounds sought by souls still sinking in
Haughty hands, heavy hearts that have heard
No knowledge of nightmares nevermore. Noise
Quietly quickens the quirks and queer quintessence of the
Shady silence where sober souls sleep and show no signs of
Fearing the phantoms fraught with force and fright,
Hallowed hauntings of heavenly heart heaved
Upon utterly unsuspecting unities unbelievably
Broken into bits, till black bowers break the back of
Countless calling caricatures that cry and cackle at
Light left lingering on the lisp of longing.
We are the weary ones. We have no webs to weave.
Leaves like luminous liquid leave our limbs, and leave us
Naked and no more, never to know the nearby
Piercing pitch of pleasure preaching and pleading:
Jesu contra mundi.
We wreak our wills with witless wanderings.

-Jon Vowell (c) 2008