The Odyssey

I pray this world

I found you in, is round.

That no matter where,

The winds and waters may carry me

All efforts to take me away from you

Should bring me back to the harbour,

Where I imagine you remain.

I hope, that these men of science

Are wrong, and my heart’s baseless belief

Be rewarded, if only because I cannot be

Without you, without hope.

That I should have seen you,

When running from myself

At the pier, unknown

Except that I saw you, and you me.

No longer guided by the North star,

I look to shore, and chart my course

The waves have been made redundant,

All winds but screaming demons.

I am deaf to all temptation,

To all longing, senseless

Lost, lost and now found

For such pain is a fortuitous blessing.

I watch the blood trickle

Across the lines on my palms

Knowing they travel the same destiny

That I find myself bound to.

Again and again I make myself bleed

If only to see visions

Of you in my arms, of dreams ordained

By these Angels of Love,

That protect me in their wings…

Be gone! And protect the one

For whom I bleed.

My faith alone will return me

To a fate decreed,

I feel it pulsing throughout me

The heavens’ routes clear, and meaningless.

Bring forth your storms, monsters,

All ailments,

That I should be tested,

As I am immune to Death himself.

For whosoever has loved,

Knows it is immortal,

All journeys from her,

Will bring me home.

By Haemophiliac…

… finished 13/08/09.

The Mermaid

In a river, of mud and dirt
Of waste, and drowning dreams
Amongst the glistening reflections
Of heaven’s rays,
I saw, per chance
A mermaid.
Between ripples, within mediocrity
And the pending onset of darkness
Meaninglessness, and the still birth
From which I was spared, to be.
I never was, more than another birth
An inevitable death, till that day
When I was, and death though still inevitable
Will not take just another, amongst so many others.
Her tail, as clear as the sun in the cloudless sky
Reflecting the radiance of the crystals
On the water’s surface, silk scales entombing
Legs slenderly entwined, as I long for our hearts to be
Till they are one.
Her hair, black as a starless night
Strings of that harp, I hear deep into the night
Though I hear none else.
Her skin, pale as a pearl
Reflecting the moon’s meaningless light,
Itself a reflection, of the sun’s burning love
My soul alight, our fire ablaze.
Smooth, though I touch it not
But my eyes can feel, what the hands daren’t
For so many times I have reached out in my dreams,
Only to wake.
A smile, that cut a man in half
Breathless, though I fight to breath
Kneeling, though all God’s denied.
I stand here now,
By the river, where no legend foretold
Of the mermaid I saw, of the woman
I am helpless to love.
At the end of life’s ledge, a faithless man
Hears her calls, she saw me once
The divine in our hearts,
for I cannot swim.
Naked, I reveal myself,
Beneath the surface she waits,
Let go of life, realised or not
For living is in the fall.

By Haemophiliac…
… finished 11/08/09.

Anatomy of Art

I do not know the anatomy of my art. I am not able to discern the bones of grammar from the flesh of words. The sinews of sentences, from the muscles of paragraphs. I cannot differentiate between the blue emotions of veins or the red passion of arteries. I do not know the anatomy of prose or verse; I am not a doctor of my art. I am but a lover, of the body in its entirety. The science is beyond me - the texts all unread. I have no diploma, an artisan of little, a pauper. I am ignorant amongst luminaries. I love the whole and the uniqueness of each one - as a woman. She is my art – in her, all words are one. A fool in love. Stones on the river of your choosing, amongst pennies tossed away. All wishes unfulfilled, I see them lie beside me. Ignorant in my love, and the only true artist of any kind. Where the ridges of her collarbones meet, clavicles in your texts, is the valley of anticipation – before eyes should meet, and lips gently part. In such a well I cast my hopes, and look up along her neck, almost a whisper. Beyond the cliff of her chin, how many times have I fallen, and towards the oasis of her lips. The nose dissecting east and west, a mirror of symmetry. If I have already made a wish in her well, then let her eyes be an ocean, willingly sea goers chased mermaids to their own deaths. The contours of her body, I've seen through the window of a plane, as I passed in the air on a cloudless day, gazing along her thighs, the moon in the distance, my hunger building to a frenzy. I could go on, but surely one would blush, for I closed my eyes and touched rolling hills, plateaus and ravines, a forest, and longed to plant my seed in fertile soil – a lush green land where two rivers met. In modesty I temper my words. What scientist, doctor, honourable though they may be, have gazed up from their books, and seen you as the gods do, as my ignorance compelled me to – from the skies, amongst the dim stars. I do not know the anatomy of my art, but my heart grows heavy at the thought of a woman, and etched in flesh, are an illiterate man's words, that even the blind can read. Come touch my chest and see. I do not know the anatomy of love, I cannot read or write, but show me a woman, and in the presence of your Moses, like Pharaoh's own blasphemous magicians, and the Fallen Angels of vice, I will create a fountain of love, from which will spring a garden in your name.

by Haemophiliac...

... finished 9th June 2009.

I am consumed by thoughts of Death.
Rolling hills crumble,
A Reaper unearthed under each one,
Angels and Demons prepare for battle
A divided world, the line drawn through me.
Oceans cry once more for Egypt's sons
Their blue, red, like the crimson sun.
Birds drown one by one, in the setting sky
Till only vultures remain,
Prophesising their own good tidings.
What good is a grave, no one will attend
An entire world, no more than dirt and water?
An entire life, but a collection of moments
So many caste away, worthless to their owners.
Yet the Pious and Fallen battle on
For each and every one,
Without a care.
What is another man's death, until it is mine?
His Angel is his guardian, a stranger
His Devils afflict me, only until I posses them.
Each heart with its dagger,
What is a church without a graveyard?
Each cup with its poison, passion overflowing
The taste of her blood, so sweet.
What life is spent living
If not in pursuit of something?
No more hills rise in worship,
Rolling clouds descend
The light that remained
Sheathed forever.
No more than flesh I crave,
As tears feed oceans, at our own expense.
The vultures sit waiting
For her to leave me worthless.
So short a time we exist
And still the necessity for murder.
I hear music in the thunder, until the crescendo.
Through art I breathe
Her body is my sculpture,
Each shaping carefully felt
Till the hands lie bleeding.
Each note rests easy, the melody conducts through me.
My fingernails lie embedded in her flesh
From love itself, was birthed torture.
Seraphs descend
For the final hour,
Legions rise
In defence of pleasure.
What beauty do those know
That kneel in prostration?
I only see their poetry
Because I stand at a distance.
Blades and prayers pierce through me
Amore, amore.
Through shards of stained glass
I see God's glory, the light illuminates within me.
What Cherub would know this?
Cupid my son, why do you betray me?
Too late for Scripture
Already immersed in Revelations.
I whisper in tongues,
Again and again,
I love you.

by Haemophiliac...
...finished 05/05/09

A Magician in the Court of Inconsequence though no Magic Exists

They would have me bring
Great accolades,
Another’s recognition,
Before reading my pain.
They tell me, to prove worthy
In the court of ignorance,
Before they are able
To themselves judge my worth.
Someone to vouch
For my tears,
My flesh,
My blood.
Come back a man,
You are just a boy,
And no child
Should have a voice.
For prestige
I must come equipped
With prestige
Itself.
Who is anyone
To judge my pain,
When they have never seen
Through my eyes?
They can f*ck their awards,
And not because I fear
I am unworthy,
Their judgment is useless.
What more does an artist need
Than a muse
And love, love, love in abundance.
They brush of sorrow,
The colour of veins diluted with spirit,
The canvas of life itself,
And a heart able to break, again and again?
What more do I need
Than a woman and a scythe,
The world, it’s joys
And sorrows?
Music aplenty, for those
Willing to listen,
To see, to be,
To die.
Only in death,
Is any life complete,
So to with love,
Poetry is only heard in tragedies.
What accolades do I need
From all those dying around me,
When one day she’ll read my words
And weep?

By Haemophiliac…
Finished 16/04/2009

A Budless Bloom

Time and no time at all,
Too often and never enough.
A lifetime spent,
With a woman’s taste on the tongue,
Never lifetime enough,
Even one woman, a woman too much.
Depravity, they accuse me of
But I am only human,
No longer the youth I once was,
Not depravity enough.
A woman, one woman
They say I obsess,
A lifetime lost in one journey,
What do they know of obsession?

By Haemophiliac…
...finished 14/04/09.

Sleeping Beauty

In an age
When not even dreams
Dare to exist,
Where romanticism
Cowers behind
Ever grey clouds,
The sun, no longer ablaze
For those that remain looking
At an evening rose,
What a sight to see
A sleeping beauty,
Surreal in her own existence.
At a time
When no one
Would dream a dream,
Per chance I see
Amongst life so practically real,
You sleeping that way.

By Haemophiliac…
finished 12/04/2009

Written watching a woman sleeping in the far corner of Starbucks on Oxford Street.