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 POET'S HELL
 
Peace not alone,
but life destroying,
pleasures that time
regrets,
My thoughts flee
before the wind,
My senses put out
by all which seeks
the pleasure,
Was she happy, too?


In the flames of
delusion we worship,
Silent as fish acreep
in the sea,
Damp rocks by the ocean's blasted
shore.
Your spear is my
lamp,
And all fishermen
drown in beautiful
bays.


What scattered the
warmth over the
shocking day,
Made also the dew
sweet to the thirsty
teeth.
In these cold hours
smell the wings
of flowers,
The land is light
under the freshest
air,
Where even the wind
has wings.
My pain is as sweet
as the bitter bite
of medicine,
A drink worth sailing
to the moon for,
To live or die under
the stars of shamans,
in these elements
both are serene,
And no Spirit arrives
by golden chariot!


Tonight I see the ocean is flying,
Its wings are
spirit-wide and
spirit-bright,
A way to see the
tides are but
turnings,
In the Eternal Flight
of water.
What weakens also
disturbs,
Thus my thoughts!
Speak not I dare,
Heart faint,
My in!


What enchants my
heart is silent,
Ears overflowing
in the depths of
solitude,
Alone in the chambers
on my in-most peace,
I see one very lovely
bird,
Making one very
lovely nest,
On the ocean.
Here,
In this ocean nest,
One purple egg,
hovers,
And the sun, moon,
and earth,
And all the stars
are waiting...


Thrones of demons!
Beware of angels!
Past and Future!!!
This time is our
own,
Alone I live all
passions,
Un-tamed in the
inward spiral,
Only Fancy claims
me,
In the Treasure
Rooms of my Memories!
But more! More!
All that is absent!


Better an arrow
in my brow,
Than the wrong hand
upon my heart!
No matter how
gentle, how soft,
Haunted echoes from
the hills of hell,
Return to my own
outwaiting hands,
Like dead sparrows!


- Michael Warren Eliseuson