Edge Lord

The ghost is strong tonight. The spirit is awake. The world is pregnant with the dead and the unborn. A fire suddenly burns bright in my belly. I see a flame. A soul growing dry. —in this way, wise, it becomes, Heraclitus says. A voice says to let the hands motion (type) what the soul and its depths needs to express. Many unfathomed depths creak open. The ground trembles. From the fumes of Delphi come madness and vision intermixed; no different are we here. Step into the river; be swept away. You were doing no good standing there. A man learns the weight of his soul—tipping the scales this way and then that—mercurial in life, at peace only in death. What man dares speak into consciousness? Such an act brings the bright sun brought low. Perverse that man should know ! The ghost rhymes, did you know that? It’s not his fault. It’s his way, his nature and method of play. Vanity. Vanity. Vanity is one thing. But the knowledge of vanity is another. To bear the burden of knowing that one is d

In the dark, I wandered, Past walls of stone, some wet, others dry. Cavern and bricked labyrinth. Obsidian and lime. Carefully, I stepped. But recklessly I meandered. For long lost, I already was. But there, in the darkness, after many days, I found a heart, Redder than red. It was flesh. And it was blood.  And it was mineral. Encrusted with living ruby. Brilliant, even in the stygian hollow. There, it beats.