David Lacey

Rookie - 287 Points (2/3/87 / Middlesbrough)

The Journey Purple - Poem by David Lacey

Diabolic renditions render in submission
The audience captive in trance,
Too scared to dance still they're chancing
On the re birth of a revolution dying on its feet.

They're loosing a race lost in pace so many years
Ago now no one can remember the faith
They held so dear to there hearts,
Here I am one in the same, broken in parts.

Numbered, Bummed, the dregs of the slum
Still I know with two suns shining I'll never find my peace
Shrinking in the shadows, blinking at the sight of revelations fading.
I find myself wading aimless through the dirt,
Lost in the elder forest pixy led I'm lost one in the same, shirtless
Flirting with the conception of a concept, here I am learning to respect
The forest universal, a forest universally challenged.

What is it I'm looking for scratching
At the surface of a lake frozen in the frost?
Empires rise as empires fall they say,
Two suns keep the day eternal turning.
The moon shaken from her routine lights the fires of discontent.

Watching them burn she perceives
The germ upon the surface crawling.
Pawing at the dirt the shirtless
Sink into reflections of the moon
As drunken cherubim wallow in the lagoon,
Swallowing over and over, the seed of the sun,
Apollo’s seed, his promise of life a new, beyond the day.

Beyond the need to breed,
The want for lust in which
We trust feeds upon their forms
Angelic in proportion,
Inspired perfection
Inspiring distractions.

Deep within the mountain lie a race ancient in the knowing
A hundred thousand years they have worked the knowledge of nurture
To an art, to the most esteemed of magicks, their they lie in splendor
Fending off the daemons that haunt them through the looking glass,
Possessed souls did no where to go but home, to rest an hour or two to pass.
To laugh away the time as though it was yours or mine seems the greatest gift of all,
The darkness to which we fall in repression is nothing but a call upon depression.
Leading to the suppression of instinct, of an devotion to emotion.

Flick the purple journey, Lick the skin unseen
Wrap the skin to tightness in honor of the Queen.
Queen of hearts, Queen of tarts which I you my friend
Which will it be in the end?

Here he comes out of the blue a child of Druid statures,
Bare from the wilderness, what is it he stammers?
Muttered curses? Uttered prayers?
Hammering the ground with entwined reeds
What God is it he feeds with his sacrifice?
What ritual but chaos is performed night beyond night?
Why is it that it should be labeled wrong or right?

That he should dance in dedication,
That he should chance on faith before Medication
Is it not proof of existence within the soul of the believer?
Is any God anything but a receiver of prayers, of libations?
What are they without those who believe, are they there?

Nothing but stills for times archives
Yet here they are alive
Growing in strength
As Mars once more proclaims his
Throne as the God of War
Venus waits upon the sidelines
Feeding in bloodlust a frenzy of souls.
Dance the circle whole.

To fight the good fight
In the name of the light
The light that guides
That protects from the source
The light that burns
Force beyond Forces

Cr owds

Where are they going?
Why is it they run so fast?
Should I join them?
Is their race one I may last?

Who knows?
Who cares?

Maybe I was never there
Maybe it was all an illusion.
Maybe it was your ghost
Rubbing fingers through my hair.

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, December 20, 2005

Poem Edited: Tuesday, December 20, 2005

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