Part 2 - Exiled from the Garden
Warrior --- Full Moon --- Skeletons
Read the introduction to Part 2 - Jump off to the poems
Arcadian innocence is lost through personal experience. Now I'm not in the Enchanted Garden of Eden anymore. I have partaken of the Fruit of Knowledge and I have been exiled from the garden. That's basically the story. On the positive side, though, there will be no more soppiness in my poems, as there was in the poems in Part 1. : )
These three poems were written at a go in one night after a pretty long period of poetic and personal numbness, in which I was still getting to terms with the loss of that happiness I had experienced before. These poems mark the first awakenings after the loss, they represent the beginning of my understanding of my own unconscious Arcadian obsession. They have a very nostalgic feel, possibly bitter ... but well, what do you expect just after a period of staticity? Happy reading ... By the way, why don't you go get yourself some popcorn and tissues just in case? : )
I believe I'm still
a warrior at heart.
Always fighting for my
reasons.
I've been fighting against
the world lately.
Yeah, against the world.
But there's not much sense
left to it anymore....
No there's no sense in
fighting against a leather
clad people who think
that I'm mad.
Noone's on my side any more.
As I walk along these yellow
bastions
Crumbling into the sea.
Alone crumbling into the sea.
Alone.
I stand here alone, with
swinging sword and
dripping blood.
I stand here.
I stand alone.
Bastions - shattered relics
of a time long gone, which
was quite great but is
no more.
Damn.
I've been wounded many times
Recently, and quite badly.
I've tried to heal my wounds with love
But all I've got is
bitter herbs that make
it just a little worse.
Times gone.
Nonsense fighting.
Walking wounded.
I'm still a warrior at heart.
Shanti.
Do you remember what we
used to do
When the full moon used
to shine?
We used to dance our wild sacred dance. At the sound of invisible drums Ecstasy poured from the skies above. Nothing we did want.
Remember how wild we used to get When lightning ripped the sky?
No.
It must be the world.
It's pretty good
as a sedative.
What are you digging up,
Michael?
I'm digging up the
skeletons of the past.
Do you like them?
Not as they are now,
but I miss them.
All that remains is dust
which falls back on
the ground
sifted through my fingers.
It's cold.
I'm cold.
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Happiness, Paradise Lost
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