Triumphant Return to Eden

I have dozens of people living inside me,
Well fed on heartstrings and present-day problems.
Living forever as their bodies keep changing,
But my mind is a big place with lots of ambition.
Keeping you alive by pushing myself out,
We can both be between life and death.

Please,
Keep in mind my perception.
So that,
You might feel hurt,
Despite my best efforts to appear
Careless.
Try your molten charm,
And excuse my bitterness.
My memories drink it all,
Water, mist, blood and hemlock.


Cast off your burdens,
And let me take them up.
I have no strength to do so,
But I sold the last part of my soul
Years ago.
Making vague covenants at the deepest hour.
To nameless memories of the long dead.
Existant or not I know not,
For I can barely trust myself,
Especially my past.
And this plane ride is so long

So now I am embracing this delectable torture,
while each breath breeds new joyous spasms of anticipation.
The cards are held at such an angle that I fool myself into thinking I can manipulate the game I am playing in,
but their perceptions of reality override mine
as I am thrown back into my serfdom.
WHY?
Who knows.
Why not?
Let us build a glorious monument using the worst ores and filthiest water.
I am in every way the most unworthy servant,
The least deserving retainer to any throne.
Of either gold or ebony.
The ranks don’t call to me,
My light and darkness stagnant in unremarkable entropy.
And yet there are still those that put faith into me.
Like I’m some knight with an epic quest.
Heroes aren’t like that.
My hero…
She…
…they…
…dead.
…..except in me.
I tried for so long to be like her.
Throughout all these years since.
I’ve tried to emulate,
To recall and apply all of the old miracle.
Maybe it worked?
,,,probably not.
The one whom I tried to save couldn’t save herself,
Or maybe that’s just the bitterness speaking.
I don’t know anymore.
Truly my past has been one of rose-colored glasses.
I’m just trying not too think too hard about everything
Right now because I’m clearly not too well adjusted.

The wheels grind and the joints are weak,
And its amazing how time can crawl
And race all at once.
When you finally catch up with yourself
Your reservoirs are dry and cold.
And all you can do is construct temples
From toothpicks on icy December roads.
I think and push to progression,
All the while the world drags me into
Its own gravity, a shade of gray.
The question is simple,
How to cope?
With a destroyed future.
The ruination bestowed by the lowly man
In an impatient failed relation with his heaven.
The lines blur and the cityscapes give way,
To an endless plain of wheat and grass
Under a bale sun and dancing breeze
Selling its secrets to the hinterlands.
Lose self.
Loose self.
Into the arms of the night,
Into the gates of cold black fire.

Lastly within lies the most fervent of hopes,
Buried within yet still tickling the surface.
The promise of light.
To carry a torch into deep caverns
Of nightmares and scary things.
Raise a garden in unlikely depths,
And let future generations thanklessly
Reap the benefits.
To be a forgotten hero,
Lost to the endless clockwork of time.
Perhaps a legend,
But not striving to be one.
Riding the strings or melancholy piano
Into the highest levels of hindsight
applying the lessons of introspective
as a scalpel.
Bring them the hope for no other
reason than to deliver.
No other reason is needed.
Pray, pray, pray for absolution.
My strength.