The Blessed Rebirth
by Charlie Shuck
I. “The Sacrifice”
Moving closer to the Muse, I see
all the things that inspire me.
Stepping back, a cloud enshrouds,
the Muse is lost to the crowd.
Turning around and looking back
sad, nostalgic thoughts float past.
And finally, with unknown speed
the Muse is racing back to me.
Cataclysmic shapes and pigments
scatter about like cosmic figments
Of the imagination of fractalization,
Combined with a universal chilling sensation.
And I can change it as I please.
My reality is on call to me.
The Muse, she comes quietly and whispers in my ear.
My hand achieves the words as long as I can hear.
The movements grow into a dream and carry on alone.
A dieing poet sighs his last few breaths of self control,
And his mind is shattered on a plain of eternity.
Reality brought to a certain symmetry.
All bound up in a fragile blanket of time.
The answers alter softly to the signs.
A foundation laid on a persons promises
gives ways to doors that you almost missed.
A light appears to fall into the sea,
ruptures tides, for people, higher ground to seek.
The light explodes, a weary end
to the world that he carried within.
He opens his heart and says
“here! Take what I’m worth!”
And the world he carried in his heart
was allowed the Blessed Rebirth.
II. “The Sermon By the Sea”
The circumference of the mind
is unessential to the spree.
An endless canvas to define, form
new dimensions to the dream.
If you want to become what it is that
cannot be denied,
Open your heart and let your blessings
come alive.
The world is waiting for the tune, hands
clasping others, tension
penetrates the room.
The Rebirth is at hand, the Cleansing
will be soon.
The rising oceans seem to be the
calling card of doom.
“Come follow me to the edge of the sea!
The great lights grace is waiting there
for thee!”
The masses listen as the Prophet sings
of all the things he says
will come to be.
They stand and prey as the waves crash down.
On that day six billion drowned for
the sacrificing of the Earth.
“come now brothers, sisters, and hear
the words that were written with
blood and tears.”
III. “The Final Words of the Earth”
“I am sorry my children but the end is here.
You’ve gone to far, you’ve insulated
me with fear.
All the tragic desperation and survival that
I’ve witnessed have come to
nothing but a cosmic sickness.
If you do not know what it is you do,
let me tell something to you…”
The final words of the Earth,
recorded here, for what it’s worth,
were cut off by a light from the sky.
It came down quickly, shrouded in fire.
The people fell into the Sea.
A Poet, stranded on the Moon, forlorn,
he could not tell them of
their doom.
He watched it happen, and he cried out
in pain.
The home, the world he knew was lost to him
in vain.
Falling slowly to his knees he
wondered at his station.
Is destruction really a form of
creation?
If he wrote it down could Earth be
remembered?
Would the pages be found, or lost unto
the void?
The blast waves past him and through
all of his dimensions.
His eyes were opened and he called out
Earth’s true name!
Cataclysmic shapes and pigments
scatter about like cosmic figments
of the imagination of fractalization,
combined with a universal joyous occasion.
His heart, it formed the core,
his insides, the mantle,
and all along his skin he saw the
sparkling of trees,
the beginnings of Seas!