Yup, knocked out another one. Apparently my accent plus cider is indecipherable to some so I’ve posted the poem beneath the audio.
Bonus points go to anyone who can find the 3 Doctor Who hommages.
There Once Lived a Man
There once lived a man,
He was strong, he had grace, he was battle-worn,
He should have done something of monumental significance,
Something to be remembered.
Prevented, though, not out of spite or maleficence, but by love.
The could’ve-been-king with his army of meanwhiles and never-weres,
Would’ve been so much but his will was never his own, it was hers.
She stole from him his drive, his motivation, his life.
Mandated his worthlessness,
Dictated his insignificance,
Where she could have breathed life she spoke death that withered his heart, his soul and his flesh.
He decayed until only his consciousness was left.
A string of strategically arranged words,
An abstract idea floating through a concrete world.
Demons run when a good man goes to war but the heavens cry when that war is with himself.
Depression is rage focussed inwards, egocentric, not directed at anybody else.
So these words, this idea, this man,
Waged battle after battle,
Fought in theatres, the scale of which never dreamed of.
Conquered his enemy repetitively while simultaneously constantly being defeated.
Thrust his sword into his foe by committing hara-kiri.
The wars and lessons taught in adolescence
Gave him the strength and knowledge he needed to deliver the final sentence.
The unthinkable,
The mortal sin,
The inconceivable that can never be forgiven.
There once lived a man that came to possess the two qualities required to see absolute truth,
He was brilliant and unloved.
But absolute truth is enough to dry up oceans and reduce mountains to dust.
There once lived a man that took not a leap of faith because the virtuosity of faith is fallacious, but a leap of trust,
There once lived a man who had had enough.
7 comments
i was reluctant to read this, and had to try to force myself through it, because my mind was like a dog who doesn’t want to take a bath… trying to catch the doorway, the edge of the tub, or somehow smooth his way out of your grasp and escape, as soon as you think you can let go and he’ll stay.
But then i realized: this could be about me. There’s only a couple parts that don’t quite fit.
But let’s just say…
My heart is withered, collapsed like a once bright star, into a black hole; my soul was a lie… my flesh, inconsequential.
My oceans are but puddles of mud made from the dust of my mountains.
A once flowing fountain of fantastic ferocity… reduced to but a sputtering trickle.
@CN, bust out a microphone and let’s do a spoken word poetry collaboration, haha.
I listened to it twice and then read it. I don’t get the bonus points because I don’t know Dr. Who. Now I’ll have to google Dr. Who and come back find he homages. I thought the reading was great. Great intonation, emotion in just the right places and enthusiasm. I liked the description of the war within..”conquering enemies while simultaneously constantly being defeated.” and “thrusting sword into foe by committing hara-kiri” ya ya, that’s exactly what I do when deeply engulfed in a battle with myself.
And you leave us sensing and almost knowing the final sentence, but you don’t come out and say exactly what the unthinkable, mortal sin is that can never be forgiven. Death.
Thanks for writing and speaking this powerful poem.
Cheers Randall – glad you liked it, mate.
I wish I was badass enough to commit harakiri. That’s quite a glorious exit. But the more I’ve read about it the more amazed I am that anybody could endure the pain necessary for the procedure.
I liked how the last line tied it all together and summed it all up.
I still think about this poem.