This is an excerpt from my latest collection of poetry titled, Dark and Desperate Meditations. I hope you enjoy it. I will be done with final editing this week and will publish it sometime by the end of next week. As with all my works, it too, will be available on Amazon in both paper and e-book format.
Jean-Marc Iyeli Adeyemi Akerele
Dark and Desperate Meditations
Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Marc Iyeli Adeyemi Akerele
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author.
For Wain and Erika:
Who could ask for better friends?
Dark and Desperate Meditations
Such dark and desperate meditations
That yearn for brighter pleasantries
In those simpler times when all is now so complex
These small temptations weary us
With bold strokes of their barbed whip to our sullen intellect
And in such moments all that was once whole becomes torn
Much like the grieving Widow who is life, rips her gown to mourn her loss.
The plot to overthrow the divine spits out its vitriol and burns the veil
And now these metal deities have free reign within our psyches
For the quiet balm of Imagination has fled and in our sleep we hear its lamentations
These Binary terrors hold us tightly in thrall
Yet still, we welcome them and bare our throats
No sensuality comes to save us from this wicked symbiosis
A slavery that has evolved from the god in the machine
which slowly chains our free-will
Bright screens are what will grace our tombstones
As our souls live on in that strange and convoluted web
But even as eternity beckons we know we are shedding mass
Becoming less and less humanity and leaving Passion behind
In exchange for cold Logic and sharp Intellect
Our world now exists in ones and zeros
That cage of code and electronics where we can pretend to not be human
We have shed the morals which built our world
They bleed out now into our prayers
Our own sad lamentations that are now devoured by the world wide web.
I am the Bitter Poet
Close to me
I feel an uncertainty taking root
Preventing me from getting closer
With its gnarly limbs and its sticky morals
To the daemons of pure reason
And the things that I cannot quite make out
Those things whose control is the yoke upon my aching shoulders
From time to time
I cease to think
Hoping that this mental stasis will bring a cold clarity
And all the constant pain of being alive
Will for one blessed moment leave me in peace
But there is no fidelity in this bondage
And no fealty that I have sworn to the incessant rapist
who violates my sense and sensibilities
Only confirms that this concept of free-will
This illusion of self-control
Is but a silly fiction that humanity maintains
A false and fatal facade
Which poisons us with its stupidity
And that strange intelligence that strips us
Of the dark and fertile soil that is in our minds
The very foundation upon which our future lies dormant
Just waiting to erupt
So I play the Fool
The harlequined jester to the mad tyrant
Who rules all that life demands
But unlike the others who too, wear motley
I do not bow and scrape
I, that bitter poet, who can get closest to the throne
As the sovereign laughs at my strange antics
I must keep it amused
So that its despite remains far from my shoulders
While those billions of fools, those sheep
Remain by their own choices oppressed
But even still I know I am not free
This bastard child that we call life
Has grown cancerous and malignant
And even though I have experienced so many of its disappointments
I cannot yet put it aside
For I am a bitter poet
But in this I am alone
This world of ours needs a thousand of me
For I define by my very existence
What it means when life is sweet
As I pierce all those self-deceptions
That women and men so tenaciously cling to
Such flotsam and jetsam
I ask myself, “Are my barbed words
The wreckage from my life’s painful syllables?”
We are prisoners one and all
And words can only take us so far
For existence is a panopticon whose prisoners are oblivious
They will never be free
Nor do they want to be
My words then are not for the masses
Those sad puppets of a laughing tyrant
I spit them out into the depths of this strange cosmos
For the ears of all that is divine
Because one day I will be free of this place
And in preparation for this I tether myself to the Gods
When my journey beyond life’s shores begins
That place where I will roam in whatever is next
There shall I fly high upon those whispering words
That I once shouted out to the worlds beyond.
Beauty’s Does Not Submit
My attempt to force Beauty’s total submission
Into the heart of a supplicant through an act of silence
A silence in which I thought that my voice would add a new dimension
To this tableau that her and I were attempting to build
It created a such perfect picture
But one that was easily defiled
But all that was in the beginning
And that my sin has supplanted
The magnificent design of this silence
That was once so full
Now her unspeakable contempt has punished me
As she looks at our world with cold and passionless eyes
And in the masques of angry red mists and greenish envy
That I am now forced to wear
She will no longer reveal herself
For Beauty submits to no man
I Sometimes Wonder
I sometimes wonder
Where is my soul
And who is this dark beggar that I see
Inside my face
With his friendly and companionable pain
Wheezing and scratching at my skin
Like a desperate rat
Trying to break through a crumbling wall
I used to believe that it was not my fault
That I had befriended him and his strong purpose
I danced with him
I courted him
I opened myself up to his direction
And payed the price
When he ripped out my feckless brain
And made it scream while I watched