A Fairy Tale Rightfully Unpronounced

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I.

There are some fairy tales purposely forgotten

Masked scabbard of the Interferon

Embark me now! Harken deep!

Pincers, heather-gray

residing, in the chaos

of the fay

The scope, the breadth—

freshest are the forceps of

wealth, so forcibly inhaled

Squeeze play…last to first

Squeezing…intensely

Rein in the misgiven logic

harness the bit displayed

bridle order, offer reprieve

To a day, unbeknownst, but veritably

In a somatic state of disarray—

        

II.

Covet the uniform less distinguished

than the dignity displayed so prominently upon the crest

One must love

before they hate

         One must hate

         before they can love

each,

alone,

flawed and frayed—

destitute and drowning-in

a parabola of valor

         affixed and spent

         dignified only

by the wash and wring

In-together

refined in the rough edges met/completely

blent/a merger into one—mixing free—to

a place once lost by me

III.

Music is built upon the foundation of every emotion we possess.  We should carefully consider what melodies possess us full.

No longer have we become isolated

no longer has the interlocutor lost his tongue

proscription, no longer in mask or shaded by

the fear of what is laced within belief—

                          

The opposition grows unbearable

we, haunt the fragments that cluster

in despair—in perilous decree—

then, will understand, will see….

all that is alive in the make-belief

world of inspiration found in song

IV.

There are some things we should never wish for or openly accept without dutiful consideration.

Go back forward

thirsting greater

whet for the knowledge never meant to sate—

hidden amidst the decorations are the words

and agility— of thousand-year-old invisible men

Where ginger henpecks snarl forth

and exaggerated bindings scoff retorts

Where scarlet footfalls shed flaked skin

to dais—ever raising until

gone by

to the sounds

of sepulchral tones

fade…

faded…

fading still…until

awake you grow

resurrected

from your bed—

 of pebbles, topping boulders of stone

V.

The bronzed veil of the squandered dove

attracts our prey and walls the dam

from cracks that call…

Erosion marks,

plated tint

fireflies….alive in glint

yet such a flash, bears the seeds—

That correlate the actions of fessing men—

directing us to the locations where

Attributions are all but lost—

where even the squalors flee

this pathetic excuse for symphony

Enter the hyperstatic repository

built upon the domino’s gradated sweetener

and force-fed mortar—by the shaking hands of tankards

alive, if only to cozen the salivation out from within…

pip to pip it effectively simulates a contagion effect

Burbling are the salivary dreams—

Of cuticles brittle, where bristling trumpets signify

the aloof designs for higher power

Impossibly vacant, yet acting out…

solely to manufacture a reason for

assembling….

A sacrificial toolkit, intent on discovering

the phantasms hovering, closely, near

Where candor has played second fiddle to cowardice…

Now. Vis-à-vis, brazen impudence stutters naught—

boldly affronting the dignity dishonored by such weakening

strife’s…

VI.

If vision is the object of your desire, then sight

shall presently appear…

But be forewarned

you may not won’t like

the images you are now to see!

The reavers are coming—

reapers and raiders, cannibalistic kin—

rising, continuously, from infernal abeyancy

The reavers are coming! The reavers are coming!

to purge both blessed and cursed,

to remind all and every

their scourge and bane

Ensconced abrasions quickly form,

from sentient pockmarks to boils forged

The reavers are here

to burn the bridges built up high

The reavers are coming  

Please pray and hide

Until the strong and proud live freely unafraid,

The results you see will remain the same

Until the worst in man can come out,

To produce the true fear buried deeply south

The reavers will come and seek man out

The ferel beasts will not relent

They’ll destroy without regret,

producing widows and widowers

along their seditious course

The youth are spared,

yet only so the scars can breathe

the foul memory

of their death to come

The reavers have never been defeated

never a casualty to claim

they come and crush

and rattle calm

they brutalize the damned

but bow naught their heads

for the countless innocent’s

they’ve also slain

VII. 

The Final Act is always the most disappointing

Eradication begins….

         when we wedlock our sins

Masked scabbard of the interferon

save me now…

         for I’ve lived a thousand years

                  and, as one might surmise,

                           the years have not been kind.

         I’ve never had to beg

                  so please do not make me now

Bear me my golden veil

         for without,

I fear

this reign

will be short-lived