Sanctuary (full title in description)

SANCTUARY, SOLITUDE, AND JOURNEYS THROUGH A GARDEN
AN ALLEGORICAL WORK
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Dedication

        I’m sure that all authors have those people in their lives that make them who they are, those infinitely valuable souls whom they could not have made it through without. This book is for that wonderful supreme Father who sits on His heavenly throne and puts up with me, sharing the ever-present love, humor, support, comfort, discipline, guidance, understanding, and everything else that has no name that I know of besides love,butmeans everything to me.  God is not a layer-of-laws.  His purpose is to guide, father, andbefriend.  Find Him. He is the spice of life.  Thank you, my love.

    For Juan and Anjelica Gonzales, Amy White, and all the others without whom I could not live, for their support, encouragement, humor, comfort, love, and understanding means more to me than words can say.  Thank you all for believing in me so much that I began to believe in myself as well.  Thank you, Juan, for keeping me insane and bleeding even when they tried to fix me permanent. 

    To Anjelica – pink ducks live on! 

    For my wonderful family: Douglass, Tracey, Jon, Mary, David, Mom, Dad, and everyone else.  Thank you for everything; I love you guys.  I can’t tell you that enough. 

    For Lynn Butterfield, who has helped me get through life in general, always knew just what to say, and is the best friend a person could ever have. 

    For Terri, without whom I would never have been able to take this from its messy little draft form and transform it into something beautiful.

    For the millions of people who have helped me walk this treacherous path of life with dignity, encouraging me to the end to stay strong and not give up.

    Mostly, for Linda Rebney. Without you, this would never have been done. You are a superb teacher, and I owe all of this to you. I never would have solidified the writer in me without you. Thank you, a thousand times over, thank you.
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Preface

        All works were created solely by the author except for Mina’s Song, a poem written by Victor Baron.
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An Explanation of Subheadings

    Spirals are longer pieces that flow like smooth rivers. 

    Soul Blood is the collection of pieces that came out of nowhere in particular, but have meaning and make sense nonetheless. 

    Journeys are pieces that have a purpose that illustrates some aspect of life. 

    Chaos poems are rushes of pure raw emotion that probably make no apparent sense to the reader, yet have infinite meaning to the author. 

    Reds are miscellaneous but share a common color, a generalization for the three pieces that were left as loners to drift in the society of the previously mentioned subheadings.
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Mina’s Song

The day has passed beyond our power.
The petals close upon the flower.
The light is failing in this hour
Of days last waning breath.

The blackness of the night surrounds
The distant souls of stars now found,
Far from this world to which we’re bound
Of sorrow, fear, and death.

Sleep, love; forever sleep.
Your soul the night will keep.
Embrace the darkness deep.
Sleep, love; forever sleep.

The gathering darkness takes our souls,
Embracing us in chilling folds
Deep in a mistress’s void that holds
Our fate within her hands.

Dream, warrior, of the dark above,
And feel the sweet redemption of
The night’s consort, and of her love
For those within her bands.

Sleep, love; forever sleep.
Your soul the night will keep.
Embrace the darkness deep.
Sleep, love; forever sleep.

We close our eyes, our minds at rest;
Submit our wills to her behest;
Our weaknesses to her confessed,
And to her will we bend.

The strength of silence fills the sky-
Its depth beyond both you and I;
Into its arms our souls will fly
Where fear and sorrows end.

Sleep, love; forever sleep.
Your soul the night will keep.
Embrace the darkness deep.
Sleep, love; forever sleep.

-Victor Baron
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Spirals
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Mind Trip

Watch and learn.
Bleed and burn.

Sane’s a mind trap.
Here’s a mind trip.

Boom boom electric.
This storm’s eccentric.

Comfortable chaos.
Calculated payoffs.

Welcome to my little black box.
You’ll find you can’t break through these locks.

Close your eyes and hold on tight.
We’re about to take one hell of a flight.

Listen to my words as they steal your breath.
Watch as my thoughts lead your death.

You can’t kill me; I’m already dead.
I’m the demon that’s invading your head.

My smooth cold rhythm became your addiction.
Your curiosity became your conviction.

Schizo goddess
Makes your life a mess

Choose your fate in a little glass vile.
Succumb to the charms of my seductive smile.

Fall into a deep dark dreamy sleep
And don’t you move your eyes to weep.

Wake in a room of soft red light.
Suffer over the loss of this fight.

Inhale, exhale your last breath
And rest forever in the arms of death.
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Manufactured Personality
Introduced to Society

Teach your children not to see
That men say how this life should be.

Acknowledge not that danger lies
Ahead when sharp eye’s mind implies

That these are only mortal men,
And new life’s no less than they were then,

But teach it still in unspoken ways
By filling up your children’s days

With answers to their question’s query,
Even as your heart grows weary.

“Think not outside this prison box
With it’s impenetrable locks,

For new minds were must persecute,
And the non-conformist execute.

Allow them to think that they are free,
But freedom means not to be free.

We’ll teach them only what we choose,
Ensuring that we will not loose,

For there can be no rebellious song
If we ne’er teach them something’s wrong.”

It bears the title cheap conformity-
This directed society.

Teach them only what few see fit;
Mind’s-eye candle ne’er lit.

Watch as their lives slowly unfold
Caught tightly in a predestines hold,

And hear the wing beats as legions fly
To stifle their forbidden cry.

Hide their differences safely away
In support of this glorious new day,

And all too willingly them enable
To accept their history as fable.

Manufactured personality
Introduced to society.

Stop the rivers’ free flow
Lest some wandering eye come to know

That like that river, we were meant to be
Wild and joyous and infinitely free.

Allow no mind to long meditate
Upon subjects small and great,

And let no connecting ties be drawn
Between the dusk and breaking dawn.

Stifle the robin redbreast’s song
As it resounds clear and strong,

And drown out  the shatter of the heart
As individuality rips apart.

All nights become a single night-
Each breaking dawn melts into a single sight

As all watch the lone decisive fire
Of white-hot lightning’s last desire,

And upon the wings of a single lash
Burns this disgrace to contra-ash.
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Soul Blood
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Damnation Way (1)

Borne of shadows
And darkened folds,

A realm of secrets
Ne’er to be told.

Take up the hand
At your right side

And on the wings of dark angels
Into forever we’ll ride.

You’ll see your life pass
In the blink of an eye;

Should you make the choice
You’ll never die.
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Damnation Way (2)

Fly with me
Into darkness unknown.

Kiss the storm
As it’s fire is shown.

Hear the whispers
Of souls long lost.

Watch as dreams
By demons are tossed.

Spiral down
Into sweet oblivion.

Feel yourself
Loose sight of the sun.

Listen to the thunder’s
Scream so near.

Quiver under the caress
Of the angel’s tear.

Wake in a field
Of silver streams,

And know once again
That nothing’s what it seems.

I leave you now
With questions infinity

For your soul has been touched
By the hands of divinity.
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Journeys
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Sanctuary,
Solitude, and
Journeys 
Through A Garden
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Part 1
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    He had spent many long nights resting in the comforting embrace of the moon, calm and peaceful with the assurance that he was alone in the garden, untouchable.  He had once read a passage somewhere that he felt knew him very well.

    ‘Solitude, extended for a sufficiently long period of time, becomes its own reward and nourishment.  A weary soul’s voice aloud can become repugnant to its own ears, and for years these had been the only voices he had heard and spoken back to, until they had become his own voice.’

    It was not surprising, then, that the girl’s presence
in the garden had not gone unnoticed, for over time the solitude had developed in him a keen awareness of this place.  He had felt her presence long before she had come into view, a slight rise in the electricity of the air that was carried to him in the gentle caress of a warm breeze.

    Had he not been slightly stunned by the idea of another being’s presence, he would have killed her—a thought that led his curiosity on a fine wire, for he was at once flooded with resistance to the idea.  Who was this woman who had somehow, if only for an instant, tamed some small part of him into wanting to know more about her?

    He watched as she made her way along the small path that led to the small pool of water in the middle of the garden, following in silence, until she came to rest at a low bench made of marble below a trellis covered in ivy.  She seamed unsure of what to do next and turned around quite suddenly, startling him. 

    He heard her slight intake of breath at the surprise of almost colliding with him just as he stumbled backward, her recoil and his knocking them both down.  For a long moment they sat, dazed, and he fully expected her to scream and beat the living hell out of him in fear.  He sat absolutely still, ready to dodge the oncoming assault, and was not unpleasantly surprised when it did not come.  She only sat there, quite still, gaping at him as if she had never before seen another human being.

    When he was sufficiently sure that he was in no immediate danger from her, he quietly rose and took a step toward her, extending his hand to help her to her feet. 

    She did not shy away from him, but remained exactly as she was, as if sculpted of ivory.  Her eyes went from his face to his hand, then back again, then returned to his hand as if she had no idea what to do with it.  Then, tentatively, she took his hand in hers, watching him all the while in mystified wonder as if she were watching some magnificently wild creature poised on the bank of an ethereal stream, and stood.

    His senses were at once assaulted with a thousand different triggers, and he almost fainted from the overwhelming impact of it all.  There was a hint of lavender and eucalyptus about her, and her hand was unusually steady, self-assured.  Her eyes were a deep green, a striking contrast to his icy blue and purple silver blend.  Her skin was the color of vanilla cream with a hint of caramel, her hair long and slightly disarrayed, as if made of moonlight.  She wore a simple light-blue dress that fit her small frame well, and she seemed infinitely young and innocent, as if she had only just come into the world, and had not yet seen its dangers.

    She was about seventeen, and she was regarding him with the same wonder that he felt.  Suddenly he felt self-conscious, and dropped her hand.  A small frown played on her lips, and she once again seemed unsure of what to do.  After a moment, she held her hands in front of her, turning her head slightly and dropping her gaze away from him, only to return it a moment later.

    Finally, he found his voice and gently apologized for startling her.  She flushed, as if a small child caught doing something wrong, and modestly told him that there was no need.

    “I’m sorry.  I didn’t know that there was anyone here.”

    “Who are you?  he asked, and she could hear a mix of curiosity, distrust, and something she could not quite name in his voice.

    “My friends call me Ress.”

    “Why are you here?”  His eyes narrowed and his tone was demanding, dominant, powerful, and indignant.

    “This place, I’ve never seen anything like it.  Who are you?”

    “Rune.”

    “The garden.  Is it yours?”

    “ You could say that.  No one comes here.  Until you.”  He raised an eyebrow, and said with indignation: “Do you often make a habit of invading places where you don’t belong?”

    He smiled. 

“No, of course not; you spoke of friends, so this is new to you.”

    His voice was full of resentment, and she was reminded that she wasn’t welcome here.

    “I’m sorry.  I’ll go.  I didn’t mean to upset you.”

    For the first time it occurred to him that he wasn’t so sure that he wanted her to go.  He had spoken too sharply, and he resented that.  He felt violated, as if somehow, she had broken something by being here, and the confusion of the moment upset him even more.  Who was she to question his security?
She was just past him when he turned to her again.

    “I don’t like the idea that this place isn’t just mine.  I had counted on this place being forgotten.  I want to keep it that way.”

    “I understand.  I was never here.”  She smiled gently.  Rune nodded and watched as she left.
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Part 2
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    He rose from the depths of sleep and uncurled himself slowly, as if he woke for the first time, and found the rooftops overlooking the city.  There he sat in the icy wind and rain, ice and fire that he opened himself to, a gift that seemed his and his alone in the form of a storm.  He had once read somewhere that the king’s house was all the world.  Indeed, he felt like a king, for the king’s house is all the world, and he felt all the world’s joys and sorrows as if they were his own, the joys and sorrows of the god of storms.

    Tonight, he was restless, and his soul searched for something that he did not know he searched for, but he felt it all the same.  Soon, he drifted on the wind until he found his garden, and his thoughts turned back to Ress.  For reasons he did not know, he tore through the paths until he came to the center of the garden, and came to a dead halt.  Even his heartbeat seemed to silence in his desperation.  She was not there and he did not know whether to weep in heartache or flood with relief.  He did not know whether he wanted her there or not.  And so, he left again, because his sanctuary was a sanctuary no more. 

    Indeed, Pandora herself had been the cause of his discomfort, unleashing all the torments of hell upon him; Pandora in the form of the innocent vanilla cream caramel queen of winter roses.

    He was so emerged in his thoughts that the sudden realization that she was near took his breath away, too late realizing his carelessness.  He supposed he should have taken her life in the garden, for he could not bear the turmoil that she had wrought upon his world.

    Before he could question what he was doing, he had found her, and spoke. 

    “May I…walk a while…talk a while…stalk a while…on this beautiful pathway called life?

    “Do as you will, but don’t expect too much of me.  I got nasty, nasty habits and that’s all you’re gonna get.”

    “I don’t remember what song that’s from.”

    “Neither do I.”

    “Why do you use it, then?”

    “Because it fits.”

    His eyes narrowed as his gaze fell over her in a penetrating stare that excited and frightened her.

    “What do you see when you’re out here?”

    “Cheap conformity.  They are…bubbles of blood on a barbed wire strand that stretches from this life to the next, and we have not reached the end of it yet.”

    “Do you always speak in quotes?”

    “Only when it suits me.”

    “The story of a woman’s life.”

    “Why so cold?”

    He leered at her like a great jungle cat ready to pounce. 

    “Because it suits me.”

    “Is everyone an object of your ice, or is this my own special treatment?”

    “Maybe you’re not the only one the song speaks of.”

    “So I’m just a scapegoat for your nasty habits?”

    “No.  A scapegoat is innocent of the crime that he is being punished of.  He is the victim of displacement.”

    She shivered under the rage emanating from his body in silent, thunderous pulses.

    “And what was my crime?”

    “Knowing that I exist.  Being where you had no business being.  Violating my sanctuary.  Defiling my temple of solitude.  Do you want to know your biggest offense?”

    Her own rage was quickly rising. 

    “Try me.”

    “Allowing me to walk a while and talk a while, for now that I have stalked a while, I’ll send you on that beautiful pathway of death.”
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Chaos Poems
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The Rebellion of Breaking Glass

Decisive Silence
Disobeying Gravity
Stillness
Freeze Frame
Solid Fountains
Tattered Memories Ablaze
Pieces Momentarily Suspended
Paints the Portrait of Life
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Queen of Winter Roses

Whirlwind
Stable Chaos
Liquid Fire
Fear
Winning Bets
Salt and Flesh
Music
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Red
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Elemental Lover

I feel him wake
deep inside me,
my lover,
and rise to greet the night
with his fire-eyes that
reflect his heartbeat
in the mirror made of sky.
I melt into him,
like lowering myself
into steaming hot water
and feel the vibrations
of his trembling breath.
My veins flow like
rivers induced with his soul
as he raises his face to
gaze upon his crown of stars
that is no longer there.
He reaches out to caress my face
with fingers made of his breath,
and I breathe deeply and
become saturated by it.
He speaks,
and the sound of his voice
crashes out like cymbals
in waves of shaking sound.
We fly swiftly
through mother night
and fall;
asleep within his center,
yet wistfully awake,
and are caught by silver clouds
that wrap us in their misty embrace,
so that we may settle back
to where we began
and sleep until
my lover wakes again,
spending the time soaking
in this gift he gives
so freely
without reservation.
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Crimson Tidal Wave

The blood of a thousand roses
Flows as a river of wine.
The death of the stars in heaven
Gives birth to these fears of mine.

Rooms of gold and silver
Inta-vie do save,
To ride on the wings of demons
O’er a crimson tidal wave.

Blackened flash of fury
Clash like cymbals in the night
As rhyme and reason under fear
Upon wings of red alight.

Pray fly fast the soul
To nearest arms await,
To unfold a more hellish scene
That Chaos could create.

A dry tongue screams forever
As the throat rips and tears
Under the intensity
Of the pleas that fall on deaf ears.

Turning corners blindly,
Not knowing what awaits,
As fools fly the roads
That lay foundation for our fates.
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Dreams

Lay you down
On a carpet of thick red feathers
That sting
Like needles
Into your cool, smooth flesh
And breathe
Misty ice
That burns like
White-hot lightning
That courses through your veins
To jumpstart your heart.
Close your eyes
And fold your arms
Inside crimson-stained satin
To sleep
Beneath the surface
Of reality.