Some may say he is a modern savior
others call him but a mere fool
the ones who know him call him a sage
those who fear him call him a horrid mage.
Still there are those
the few
who actually know him.
And what do they call him?
Mike is his name and melach is his blessing.
Through the webs and mazes that he projects
through his thicket of walls
lies someone that no one
has ever been graced or burdened with.
A covert man he is, was and always will be.
For he knows he is not one, but three.
He walks with his soul
tucked away, but still
he can hear what it has to say.
He serves the machine
listening to its every word
carrying out its every action
He searches for himself
in the myraids of opposites
and he still looks onward.
All of this he does,
imprinted upon him are the stars rays
and the light of the sun.
He has the making, indeed he does
but what shall he be?
Does he know?
Nay, he has not one clue of where to go!
So as he searches he finds
He finds things that were thought not to exist,
but he does not live to find.
He lives to search.
And search he will.
With every step a footprint is made
to retrace and regress would be foolish.
So this boy travels onward.
Toppling every obstacle,
smashing every impediment.
His will cannot be adverted,
but he yearns to know what it is.
Still he is burdened, bothered, hindered
by those people who claim they know.
They tell him he is wrong,
but have not got a reason why.
These people are too common,
why do the ask such questions that neednt be answered?
Regardless he travels on.
Through the throes of life;
on his quest.
Looking, watching ever subtle move.
And someday,
He will move on.
Having finished his work he will transgress,
going beyond what was ever thought possible,
but no one will know.
No one can comprehend what cannot comprehended.
So the theories grow stale,
but that does not matter.
With the promise of life there is more,
as he is so sure of; there is more.
On one glorious day the soul of thy master will take another mortal
And that day is quite a joyous occasion,
long as it is time.
For now this thing toils
for himself and for his purpose
WHAT PURPOSE!
For he is oblivious,
but he toils still,
not in vain, but for his will.
Till it is quenched he will do its deeds,
not in ignorance, but in accord.
For he loves himself, and everything that goes with him.
Now as this compilation of personalities and things sits and writes
He hopes his message is quite clear,
to misunderstand is to fear;
to know is to love,
for what is more lovable than anything that is true?
So as you, vadelects and dissidents prepare to relieve your eyes
What thou canst do is but thy will
nothing else can be done!
To the ones of the future and of the past; "Dieugarde"
To a friend
translation:
The faithful friend has descended
tongues locked in silence
feet locked in stone
eyes in eyes
one flash
the friend is gone again
thine eye is free
thy tongue stunned
thine eye is pulling me
but my feet in stone
I am not speechless
but my tongue is tied in by stomachs knots
the vision of the sacred place etched in stone
a junkyard turned to paradise.
It was not love
it was that amity toward a faithful friend.
Jaded dreams (Dream girl)
I have known you for a year now
well known of you.
My, its amazing how much the mind creates in a year
I thought...
I thought...
No, I created you.
No wonder you seem so special.
If you were a fool
I would think of you just the same,
for I created you
not as you really are
but as I want you to be.
Perfect in every way
so much for a dream girl
but you were
as long as I did not know you
you were perfect.
Crazy
"Hi, I am"
"can I speak a word"
"before you throw me out?"
I guess these places are for those people
but if it weren’t for us crazy folk
they would not seem so sane.