The Shadow of my Ancestors

The Shadow

I walk in the Shadow of Ancestors

thinking back on Misspent Youth,

Crystalized thought stabbing Life,

Killing the Psyche.

Deserted stillness comes like Death

While trying to find the last Kernel;

Happiness, Slippery as the worm

Avoiding the Hook

Evades the search, killing memories

Whose only purpose tricking one more Day,

Like a Whore to some unseen Pimp.

Monumental Madness disguised in

The Full, Blood-red Moon rocks the Tide

In a violent Trance; a beaten Roar.

Woman, Dance on my Corpse,

Help me ride the Threshold of

Time in need of a Partner.

Lapsed moments condensed into

Future Promises, maintaining the Shadow;

The Sickness cured by Dreams of

Self-mutilation. I hang from Two Hooks,

Pierced flesh a prelude to my Own

Private Peace; an Offering

To the Woman, Dancing on My Corpse.

I walk in the Shadow of Ancestors,

An outlaw aberration dedicated to

A Creative Mythology; My own Jihad.

A restless Native looking for Art in the

Land of Change. A neophyte tamed by

the course of War. Contempt for Life,

Cradled in Reverence for Death, redemption

Refused and Discarded, a spoiled, petulant

Philosophy rendered mute by carved Flesh

Hanging. Living sculpture in the form of Man

Suspended, Blood red dripping into the Mouth

Of the Woman riding the Moon.

I Love the Woman as She dances,

A celebration in honor of a Warrior’s

Death, and still I walk,

A meandering Journey in the timeless Shadow.

I escape the Tempest, turning Within,

Sitting in Silence, Doing nothing,

Seasons pass anew. The Shadow?

The Shadow takes care of Itself.

It’s something to ponder.

I set my own hooks and I enjoy it immensely . . .