This is descendent divinity

Art courtesy of: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Flare-516580147

I taste the liquor
Of descendent divinity
What is it? It is like the Tao
It cannot be named and it is

A mystical portion of evolution
It is the spirit brewed in Man
The soul in the girl child
That is too sensitive for life

Life in her cruelty and brutality
I taste the water
Of lifetimes, of the infinite
And smell the fragrance

Of forever, scooped in pearl
Inebriate of air I am,
Reeling, through an endless
Encounter with seasons

That I am so intimate with
I can nearly get drunk
On golden bees and lilac sunsets
It’s enough to be alive

Some days, no need to be a saint
I taste liquor on the breath
Of youth in an old body
Like mine, leaning against the sun!

As the Sun Sings along the Navels of Prophets

Art by: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Prophet-26476972

But now he sleeps without end
His potential buried forever
Now the moss and the grass
Flowers the dreams of what

His life would have been
Better maybe than some fates
The dew will simply blanket
Darkness, his soul will retreat

Maybe one day to take form again
And he will seek a confident profile
And his goal will bewilder him
And his beautiful body will carry

The tiger-thirst of the multitudes
And he will play his role
Below the stars like an actor
And the horse-clouds will see him

And the groups of silence
In the corners of the Earth
Will whisper of him
Like Buddha, Mohammed, Jesus

Or Kalki whoever, it goes on
A lament for what a man stood for
A symbol for what truths can mean
Across generations; a philosopher,

A poet, a prophet, an innovator
Because, tomorrow’s love does not wait
Evolution does not falter
Her veins of coral are never mute
But flow with the pride of genius itself.

Battered by Words of Sad Gold

Often, as I awake in my room
I am the first person holding a candle
To myself, the one that murmurs
In his dreams, weeping

These are the days, I wake up to
Empty fountains, ringing bells
For a world that falters
Nearly as much as I do

My lips taste timid metals
My mouth raw with hunger
To enter the capital of the opposite of indifference
I am sick with solitude

My eyes are lost to the nights
I end up staying home, too late alone
I see another solemn evening pass
There goes my life, it weighs upon me

I am the first and last person, I talk to
Each day, the mouth that cries
No water from these eyes at noon
When the world expects my strength

Summer sheds her petals in soft agonies
It’s only in Spring, I stare and stand before
The large white house, and ponder
The clarity of extinguished things

Like memory, like the angels of the soul
Beneath the slow martyrdom of strain
I spread my heart thin in massive words
Letters, poems, that don’t amount to much.