The Man in the Arena

The glory that is smeared all over my blade like blood.
The crowd may laugh and point at me because I got dirt
On my face, but they duck for cover as they hear the thud

Of feet heading their way. They are all cowards as I hurt,
Stumble, and feel the pain, but I still stay upright. My
Enemy is not the one with sweat all over his torn shirt.

I am the one who is still staying in the arena, eye to eye
With my fears and doubts all on display, but I am not
Scared of failure. I am not terrified of those tears I cry

As they splatter because I made it through every knot.
I survived as everyone around me whispered and crude
Remarks kept coming my way. Every battle that I fought

Was not for the applause or for the ones who screwed
Me over, but for the one who has shown up day after day
And was ready for every fight, me. My hope was renewed

And my faith was stronger than ever before. Every ray
Of sunshine could never shine too bright and the rain
Could never keep me inside. The rocks that try to weigh

Me down feel weightless as feathers and the windowpane
Has no beauty compared to what is happening in the arena.
I am the last one standing and I have gone against the grain.

An Arena ?

An Anathema Spurned By My Soul , As This World Is My Stage

And An Arena Is A Limited Set Of An Act Of Death Among Rivals ;

If There Are To Be Actors Fighting To The Death Let Them Test

Their Mental Mettle Not Some Feeble Body Subject To The Ravages

Of Time Yet Consciousness In It's Purity , Natural Seeking Of New

Territory , And The Expanding Of It's Sphere Of Influence , With Shield

Raised As Personal Beliefs And Dogma Bombarded By The Questions

Of The Many And The Swords Of Wise Discrimination ;


Lashed Bloody By The Words Of Criticism And Tongues Of Blind Masses

Who Follow The Crowd Madness And The Delusion and Common Folly

Of The Unenlightened And Often Inbred Politicians Who Pretend To Lead

While Indoctrinating The People With False Truths And Mind Manipulations

Then Slyly Choosing Their Heroes And Coordinating Their Conspiracies

To Attempt To Illustrate Their Prowess In The Eyes Of The Played Populace ;


You Dare To Insinuate Yourself In This Argument When You Are Not A Gladiator ,

Or Even A Sorrow Violator , As Warriors Of The Public , Or So Called Re - Public ?


If Things Are Decided Beneath The Scenes And Not Public In The First Place ,

Then What Is The Good Of A Re - Public Perpetuating Falsehoods And Lies ,

And What Fool Would Defend That Or Give Their Life For Such Maximus Falsus ?

I Have Never Seen A Public Or Re - Public With True Equality Among All Members

Therefore If I Am To Fight In The Body , It Shall Be To Route False Demagogues

Who Twist People In The Arena With Irrational Thought And Provocateur Passion

To Maintain Or Ascend To Positions Of Power Rendered To Service And Purpose

For This , I Shall Fight !

I: The Maw Of My Fate    
   
Surrounded by judgement at the high walls:    
The coliseum with its layered tiers,    
The paying citizenry face Caesar   
Who’s stony glare speaks silence for my death:    
   
A man trained in the techniques of restraint,    
Planning his next move of knight taking rook.    
I am executioner incarnate,    
Turned inward, guarding that right for myself,    
   
Warrior, gladiator; scored on my shield;    
Blade & mace strikes that I’ve returned tenfold.    
It is honor and glory to the brave    
That awaits me as my life bleeds away.    
   
II: The Way Is Certain    
   
Upon his shield, feelers retrace his wounds;    
Feather’d moths softly attend in darkness.    
       
The drone of his breathing suddenly shifts    
As mist rolls into the tent by torchlight.      
       
With the portent of imminent death near,    
Unguents anoint him in ceremony.    
       
Sole utterance amiss in grave stillness,    
Palpable as the arenas that bore him,    
   
That bow as failed contenders’ vigilance,    
And time grows short, as a girl of lineage,    
   
With blood of the gods by decree ordain’d,    
Solemnly rises, to sit astride him.    
   
Honors, to offer of body and song;   
The final journey to Elysium.

NOT ONE OF YOU

Words spread fast through a castrated caste
Dead turds turning upon a theater outcast
and everyone of the same mind upon the stage
is shunned in a kind of shameless blind rage
within their mindless simple clan
in a way that only simple minds can understand
I will tell you something blunt and true
like I told this one singing cunt I once knew
I've done things that you couldn't imagine
So before bringing and putting your angry VAG on
dismembered members caught being true
remember I'm not one of you
-NO REGRETS-
-I TRIED-
-YOU'RE MY PETS-
-YOU DIED-
I have a new anthem to sing
a sacrificed vice venturing
into what will willingly bring
a calling of a failing falling offering
crying out loud or failing with or without you, friend
Flying proud or sailing down until the end
I'm not concerned about tired lies spoken as true,
You should be more worried about what I'm thinking of you
I tried, almost died, and I'm nowhere near through
I'm not one of you

You broke my bank
You broke my mind
You broke my heart
But take care not to gloat
For I still have hope
And with hope
The spirit cannot be broke
 
So, I'll pull myself together
And move on
With the certainty
That someday  
I'll find somebody
Better than you  
To love me

I    
your fingers twist  
about the neck    
of the black tuned vihuela    
   
sounding the chords,    
your cantata    
of its dispossessing love    
   
in wails begun    
pale, fatal words,   
the disconsolate music    
   
lamentations    
in childhood shrouds,    
your specters appearing real  

you beckon, come, Festival of the Dead    
   
II    
you sing the graveyards in your family home,  
the stolen icons of your sacred soul    
remade in markers of the lurid death,    
in monuments, Formica and cement,  

unliving songs composed in black emblems,    
as melodies poison, I will depart    
as claws extend from your caressing verse    
to tear their stains, you see me vanishing    
   
display for me your sacrificial dance,    
the open legs, the coda of your pain,    
indulgent anthems seek to take me in,    
the moldered steps, knowing that I have gone    
   
in costumes of you, I will not regale    
the carnival of denigrated love,    
I will not dress in bleached bone serapes    
I will not lay tables among your dead    
   
your sorrows are the spoils of the damned,    
resound in echoes of the ghost applause,    
I will not bear the hard tied skull face mask      
so you may sing my beauty at the stage    
   
not one more day leading your corpse parade,    
flying los voladores in the graves,    
heart chilled death songs among morbid crosses,    
not one more day among these broken stones    
   
no, ni un día mas de tu muertos    
   
III    
sing the cold misery of your safe tomb,    
incant the long departed, your comfort,    
their audience to sleep and wake with you,        
I refuse your nocturns of stillborn life    
   
I will remain    
In warm sun’s light,    
Find place among the living    
   
Sing holy hymns,    
Embrace, desire,    
And I will be yours no more