Some people tan,
Some people ripen,
Some people laugh at the lamest of jokes, and

Some people seethe
While others let go,
Even when gripped by the frost of deep woe.

Some people tan,
Some people ripen,
Some people dance to the sun that has blessed them.

Some people bleed
At the thrust of a blow
After the wound’s healed up, all for show.

But you, by the sun or the moon and the stars,
Cloudy or clear, whether happy or scarred,
Pray to the gods for the sight of all men
Just to learn love and to love once again.

Hypocrites, traitors, the liars we know:
All we who sneer at the sight of their show,
Spat on and cursed by we moral folk;
But to you, brethren, and pity their yoke.

Sympathy comes and sympathy goes
Like the flip of a mob at the will of a show,
Hating and heckling, skies to the nose!
But to you, my beloved, this is what you bestow:

Some people tan,
Some people ripen,
But the villain in me is the villain in you.

When time’s cracked face will tick for us no more
At the exhaustion of our powers’ sources;
When deadline, duty, death, have ceased before
Our stolen eyes that once lit up our courses;
What new religion could replace this void,
We soulless populous of entities,
Mined out of our own our own minds, all but destroyed,
To zero down action’s infinities?
Where are you gods! Why’ve you abandoned us?
How is it that this statue’s godlike face
Feels, at my trembling touch, as cold as ice?
The more withdrawn the more these gods I chase!
Yet edging at my faithless leap awe springs,
Ascending, my descendent queens and kings.


Praying Mantis: WANTs respect
Panther: NEEDs company
Horus: CAN see everything


HORUS: Order! Order! By my omniscience,
My gift to see all things across all time,
I will unkennel all the sins you’ve made
And publish you forever in deep shame
If you in audience will not hear this panther
And this praying mantis speak!
Good praying mantis, speak your want to us
And why you wish to prosecute this beast.

MANTIS: Horus, falcon of Egypt, fighter of evils,
Despite your single eye – the other lost
In cataclysmic battle as you nobly
Traversed the underworld and gifted it
To your blind father – forever be omniscient!
My want is but respect from this black beast
Who brutally disgraced me with a roar;
And with a wrath darker than his night cloak
Attempted with his claws and giant jaw
To have me lynched to pieces. This respect
Will only be achieved by ostracism.

HORUS: Order! Order! Don’t make me site the verses
Of William Shakespeare dissin’ on the mob!
Good panther, speak your need and your defence.

PANTHER: Horus, I have no tongue of flattery
To match the mantis, so I will speak plainly.
This praying mantis, with her friends, condemned me
To a black cell of solitary shame.
Between her shifts of prayers disguised with virtue,
Mocked my swart fur and gossiped stark false claims
That swayed the audience to frown against me:
The jungle of my throne she claims I stole
From the cold paws of my dear brother dead
And cries out, “murder!” But by your omniscience –

HORUS: I know the claim is counter-factual.

PANTHER: And so by measure of her saint persona
Compared to my complexion in the mirror,
Fought battles in my mind like avatars
Projected on the field of my mind’s eye.
But every war was lost: each circumstance
Played in thought’s theatre saw I condemned
Despite my acts of speech to right the rumours.
Then I defeated in premeditation
Wished death unto the world. But since we wish
Vast nothingness before we nothing wish –
A death to all before Desire’s death –
Foresaw myself leap off a looming cliff
To drown my sorrows deep into the sea
And begged the salt to bleach my fur to white.
Thus, I performed and leaped into the sea:
Flinched, roared, and winced on rocks down my descent,
And smacked upon the sea that felt of earth.
Poseidon, sleeping with his trident, heard
The impact of the sea upon my flesh.
The crack of broken ribs broke his deep sleep,
So, in his rage thought death too merciful,
And with a wave had washed me up ashore.
Upon the beach laid I in agony
Wishing the sea to swallow me again.
Outweighing my defeat, my wrath returned
Which gave me strength enough to leave the beach.
Since great Poseidon had denied me death,
My being shook for the death of that false mantis.
Bruised, battered, brittle, yet whole by seething wrath,
I roamed the jungle seeking for revenge,
Until I saw the mantis and her clergy
Praying: a tribe of chirping hypocrites.
Disgusted and confused by such a picture,
Roared I in rage and chased the hippo-crickets.
But by my broken bones I failed to seize them
And wailed up to the heavens for my loss.
Thus, will I plead my need here absolute:
That I, despite the blackness of my fur;
That I, despite my fang’s monstrosity;
That I, despite the knives that form my claws,
Are kept in this great jungle’s company.
For ostracism is a sentence worse
Than being hunted by a pack of poachers.
All else beyond the jungle, save the sea,
Is but a plain of dust and tumbleweed.

HORUS: While such a speech has moved my listeners
And swayed the favour from this mantis’ virtue
Toward your beastly honesty, I hereby
Condemn you ostracised from this oasis.
For in your current state you are not fit to
Cohabitate with our community.
The desert is as natal as it is fatal:
Should you survive the roamings of your banishment,
A nobler self will bloom by desert ashes.
And should you find your way back home new-formed,
A greater panther could be more equipped
To lift false virtue’s mask and cure the blind,
And for us, truly see what lurks behind.
‘Till then, be gone! Vast desert plains await;
May steps through hell lead out to heaven’s gate.


Since I’ve performed no acts of recreation
To warp the days that trip my sober youth;
Since my vanilla life, no chocolate eaten,
Despite the sugars that attract my tooth;
Since fellow-students smoking more than nicotine,
Have left me all alone save for my glass;
Since caffeine and sweet cider are my sole fiends,
Am I no rock-god, just a sober ass?
If potions are the well of human genius,
I am as dull as lead, as glum as algae.
But if I am to join the the legends previous,
Will muddy potions taint my clear sobriety?
My tongue says yes! My money-purse says no.
Back to the cheap drinks! There I’ll sink my woe.

Time never shows his face ’til time is wasted,
Heaving from breath to breath; burnt up its air
That once inspired the life it never tasted,
Only to find meaning in our lost despair.
What cunning trick has time performed for me,
To fuel my need for greatness, poke my ambitions,
Shun love for labours, speak pretentiously,
And guild my sorry-self for a glowing reputation?
I’m at the mercy of his pendulum.
Time’s swing did catch me in his hypnotic charm,
Mislead me with a coin of gold to dance for him,
As, tick-by-tock, my neck fitted his arm.

All this he conjures though he’s not to blame.
I am to blame; my folly fits my name.