These are the Dreams of Insomnia

April 2005

In accordance with its theme, about half of it means something, and half of it doesn’t, at least not to me. Its title suggests its origin.

I can’t sleep and my mind is wandering
And I think of the things I don’t know
And my head is full of restless rhythms
But the time still passes slow.

I saw a mighty fortress rise
With walls of crimson flame
And a moat of steel that churned and wheeled around the flows of stone
I could not yet believe my eyes
I approached the doors alone
But the gate was barred with kindness hard and mercy was its name

Oh, but these are the dreams of insomnia speaking
And I would not mind them, no
But the ragged thoughts behind them speak
Of the things I almost know

I felt a sword within my hand
That shined with golden fire
As it flew with grace its silent face betrayed its burden dread
And it left me in a twisted land
And hung above my head
I escaped in fright but by the night I’d sunk into the mire.

Oh, but these are the dreams of insomnia speaking
And I dare not listen, no
For the jagged thoughts that in them dwell
Are fragments of my soul

I heard a bird song so absurd
That rang with truths to tell
And melody so sweet and free it broke the rainbow sky
If my heart could but catch one word
I knew that I might die
But keep this song within you strong or you may fall to hell

Oh, but these are the dreams of insomnia weaving
I cannot hold them, no
For the ancient caves they wander through
Are deep and dark and low.

I met a dragon silver-grey
As through the sky I swam
His teeth were ice and rolling dice brought wisdom from his brain
His tail was braided light of day
With moonbeams in his mane
And he spoke to me in ecstasy, “You must know who I am.”

Oh, but these are the dreams of insomnia sleeping
You should not trust them, no
For the ragged thoughts within them speak
Of things I cannot know.

Endings

Early 2004

With wild eyes to watch the winding seas
Go down into the bright darkness
As the stars collapse, exploding red hot fury
Into quiet mist as eternity stops
And infinity wheels into a pinhead, churning,
I should not be worthy.

With troubled ears to hear the sky breaking,
Screaming as the tumbling world is spent
In the cold void as the sun dissolves
Into the shadows of the galaxy shivering
Dark as infinity stretches to nothing
I should dread utterly.

With quiet mind to be the fading sunlight
Of myself upon myself and untold mastery
Drawing out all things once from the driving,
Furious, fragile flesh that knew the earth
And wind as I sink into potent oblivion
I should be content.

Untitled

Early 2004

I think I wrote this in under 15 minutes while putting off a paper. Still, it fits together well enough.

Awake, awake, the dark redeeming
Sing the song of doom reborn
Fire of old is new arisen
Fury ancient breaks the dawn

Elder still awakes the morning
Sings the long-lost songs of war
Shouts the call awaiting glory
Calls the fools to fight the storm

Long ago when men were angels
Here the battles built the songs
Now the tides of war are fading
None can tell what waits at dawn.

Poet's Prayer

2004

For a short poem, this took quite a while to get together. As close as I get to a summary of my philosophy on life.

Today I am boundless,
Infinite,
Nothingness,
Creature of spirit and fire.

Sing Hope,
Irrational, wide-eyed,
Unknowable,
Least-fortunate angel to guide the way.

Sing love,
All-redeeming
Breath of the universe
Angel, protector, uniter of souls.

Hope, be my avatar.
Love, be my advocate.

Older and Younger

Fall 2004

I’m channeling Dylan here, so picture him singing it, maybe with a mid-tempo folk-rock sort of arrangement.

---

I am older than you think I am
And younger than you know
I am older than the summer rain
And younger than the snow
And you don't know where I am
But I don't know where to go.

There are prophets on the street corners
and the devil in the wind.
And a thousand men may end their lives
Before one man will begin.
And a man may tell a thousand lies
To get you not to sin.

But be older than you think you are.
Be younger than you know.
You may survive the pouring rain
You may survive the snow.
But the way is long and arduous
The path is full of woe.

There are no signs along the way,
No map to where you are.
You will walk the path in beggar's boots,
Seeking solace from afar.
And you will find your spirit wane,
Like a dying avatar.

And the storms will strike around you
And the bandits hold the roads.
And you know the dangers you must face
If with me you will go.
You are older than you think you are,
And younger than you know.

Triumvirate (Incomplete)

Early 2004

The opening three stanzas of what could be a narrative work at some point. Mining a fantasy vein here again.

Redeem! Redeem!
Ye twilight child,
A light upon the eastern wild
And bold ye fool, ye tempest, and ye stormful child of war
And laugh to be alive
The world is ill for thee.

Behold! Behold!
Ye starlit wanderer
Fire upon the sunrise yonder
And hope to ride the tempest and the maelstrom tides of war
And weep to be alive
The road is long for thee.

Arise! Arise!
Ye fire-born angel
Time awakes thee doom and danger
And haste to guide the tempest in the wilderness and war.
And sing to be alive
The call is meant for thee.

Self-Critique

Early 2004

Would it be wrong to say I don’t think it’s my best work?

Look here!
This is useless,
Forced and pretentious,
And the message too plain for my face.

Look here!
Too much rhythm,
And rhyme without reason
No flow to the meter, no passion or grace.

And here!
This is something,
A sparkle at least
It must be drawn out, though: more impact, more soul.

But no,
It is dreadful.
This never will do.
The problem is not with the parts but the whole.

Oh this?
This is nothing.
Just something I wrote.

Nightfall

Early 2004

An exercise in fantasy.

Away! Away!
The breath of day
Is dying and the night is fey
In the grim land by your fathers’ graves

Their swords are gone
And eons long
Have washed the warriors from the stones
But a grim ward still disputes the bones.

Beware! Beware!
The torpid air
Is heavy with regrets of yore
And men are killed by stranger things than war.

Icons

January 2005

This is probably my best poetry with a political message. I like the way the rhythm moves.

Man by the infinite God is awed
For Man is made in the image of God.

And we ask for the sake of our thousand dreams
And we ask for the sake of knowing things
In the heart of hearts of the king of kings

Does God hope?

And God is remade in the image of man
So we may pretend to understand

And we ask for the sake of our growing need
As we stake our lives on a book we read
In the throne of thrones and in Adam’s seed

Does God believe?

And God is remade in an image of stone
So we may keep him as our own

And we ask for the sake of our troubled times
Though we hear it along with the weekly chimes
As we seek to atone for nameless crimes

Who does God love?

And God is remade in an image of fire
So all we fear may be placed on the pyre.

And we no more ask when the innocents die
We no longer ask why the angels cry
But we say we know, with a knowing lie,

What God wants.

And God is remade in the image of man.

Angel Unorthodox

Late 2004

Like a sonnet on LSD.

I am the unorthodox angel
An angel of hope and redemption
Born on the wind on the edge of the sunrise
Born on the tip of the thunderbolt’s fire

I am the unfortunate angel
The angel regret and repentance
Slow-rising, far-seeing, born to the tempest
Under the weight of the hurricane’s ire.

I am the intemperate angel
The angel of desperate valor
Born in the flare of the sudden rebellion,
Quick-striking wrath in the thunderstorm dire.

I am the last of the grim, grey, storm-tossed angels
And the last of the bleak, blind, storm-tossed fools.