In the Dust of this Earth


Dust in the Wind….

All we are is Dust in the Wind……

http://youtu.be/bSZIq1Fr–8

Rings of Saturn
Rings of Saturn

We are Stardust fallen from Heaven.

Returning to Mother Earth to be scattered across the oceans, seas, plains……taken up by the wind once more.  Galaxies. Sand. Soil. Swirling rings around Saturn Whirlpools of Atlantis Solar systems of revolving doors.

In the Dust of this orbital sphere are seeds and spores of generations yet untold. Stories to be written and songs to be sung. Poesy hanging by vineyard climbing ivy searching for fertile ground in which to take root and bloom.  You are the pitter patter of dew arising with great tear droplets falling to moss and leaf covered ground.  Take hold my Luna branches and spring forth from sweet tender Gaia into renewed awakenings.

Foliage covering preternatural forest an ancient womb delivering sustenance to all flora and fauna. You are the scent of a damp summer’s night. She suckles her young with tender shoots Arboreal Splendor to behold. Goddesses arise and walk about restoring the vanquished, quenching all thirsts birthing new lives.

In the Dust of this Planet
In the Dust of this Planet
Death Angel

Requiem for Bertie


Requiem for Bertie

Angel of Death
Angel of Death

A walking cadaver feasting yet never full.  Hollow sunken cheeks. Fetid breath.  Mortuary bones clacking like castanets signal a dirge for a being hanging onto life yet bound for the grave. More specter than man. A rambling absurdity. Vultures patiently await thy final fall. Ye reek of the morgue. Thy entire body festers as a gangrenous wound.  He beckons! He beckons! Rub him down with frankincense and myrrh!   Ready thy flesh for winding sheet and cooling board. Turn back all covered mirrors!  Face thy head to the North Star. Every road ye tread leads to the crypt. Thy Tomb awaits thee and bids thee step in.

Island of the Damned -- Bocklin
Island of the Damned by Bocklin

The smell of death accompanies thy uprising and approach.  A stench emanating from thy despoiled core lingers in every room.  Onlookers vainly swing their heads in disgust trying to dislodge tastes of putrid flesh invading their tongues. Youth and health have been dispersed to the gale like leaves whipped by the windstorm then fallen to soil. Leaves decomposing returning to the earth from whence they came.  No potions, brews or concoctions from Ye Olde Apothecary Shoppe can save thee now. Threescore and ten shall not be thine for the Fates are poised to cut life’s cord.

The Pale Horseman rides for thee. This night thy soul is required.  Ferry passage has been booked and Charon awaits you dockside for thy journey across the River Styx.  Once shiny obsidian bursting with life now ye become dusty white-grey urn ashes.  A tree that once stood tall in the forest has fallen never to rise again.  Strong saplings are pine boxes for many Potters Fields.

Once to the bazaar now to the funeral.  Maggot courtiers await the beck and call of thy rotted corpse. Hypnos wicked opium dram shall deliver thy harvest ready soul gathered unto Thanatos sickle and scythe.  Journeys fueled by alcohol, cigarettes and sugar end much too soon. Yonder cemetery will be thy new home.