Ode to the good centurion...

He stood there, aghast, as all looked content.
He objected and raised every issue,
As their ignorant evil lives seemed bliss.
He had nightmares and wished this were not his world.
All as the usurpers had a smile.

He objected as the devil took control,
He wept as the incompetent men and women ruled.
He looked to the skies and howled like a wolf.

He did not forget his duty unto death,
His sacred duty, his sacrament unto the highest command.

The good centurion fought and conquered death.

When I think of you...

Roses, yellow, purple red.
Odysseus stuck on an Island, Calypso playing by his side.
Yet, of Penelope his mind has hope,
A woman not the goddess of island paradise.

And he heads forward and on, as the gods negotiate to make his song,
And Calypso and paradise and eternal sunrise he forgets,
As he seeks a woman like you, his Penelope.

And when I think of you, Odysseus to Penelope,
Stuck a thousand miles away, Or something in that stead.

I think of my Penelope, and all within my head, does instead.
I think of you, and I romance your ripples and reflecting waves of jade.

And I think of you Penelope, and thoughts become lurid, and
I wonder at us so estranged by distance, and challenges famed.

I romance the thought, I cherish the image, in rippling, draining water,
And memory falters, and your voice is a sound I easily forget,
Your smell is long forgotten, It is not something within my grasp,
And your touch is distant, I grasp at the air.

Odysseus to his Penelope, and the secrets within our bliss and bed,
The wounds in my heart are the wound in my head,
The history of Odysseus to his Penelope,

But my intentions are to search, within my stead.
I seek you within the rhythms of my head,
I bid to fill the memories in with a many coloured crayon or paint the stead.

I can but await you, await your breaking upon me like the winter tides,
I can bid to wait, wait and strain.

For if we never meet in this, my stead,
It is not Odysseus to Penelope,
But a man stuck out far to sea, who dies,
Of thirst for his internal misery.

Emotions in me...

He stood there without grimace, as his servants cut him piece by gory piece.
He disobeyed Caesar, by making the statement.
His dissent, his opposition, to the slaughter.
His grievance was his death, he died a painful death, joyous in his painful slaughter.

Shaka kaSenzangakhona despised the weakness of his troops.
They ran in small sandals across the savannah.
He wanted silent, barefoot men to bid his dues.
He ran upon the devil thorns which rip apart human flesh, and his men, he killed if they did not too.

He stood against emotion. He stood for pain.

And the great leaders of us, of men...
They stood against emotion, they stood for death the angel, and for pain.

But your laugh unsettles me. Your love and joy weaken me,
And a fire ignites within a spark.
An inferno blasts into the supernovas.
The acceleration begins, the snowball grows, and grows.
I pretend to hate you, to avoid this passion,
My pain is melting, my power fading.
When accompanied by you I cannot run over the thorns,
They tear my flesh and bones.

And I feel the darkness encompass me: emotion: love.
And I know not how to live, or be.
For with you, I am vulnerable,
And it is only hope I see.

But I fight it to my best,
And hope and pray, and silently obey.
But you, sweet lady, do unsettle me.
My path of stoic silence, is cataclysmically affected only in and with thee.

Belief is a thing... a thing based on other things...

listen to ‘Belief is a thing... a thing based on other things..’ on Audioboo

I watch the glass, and await.
I look into the world,
And await an image upon my spectacles.

Purple and red and blue,
Reflect upon the sunset lit lens,
As I look through spectacles, and observe this world.

Belief is not nothing,
It is based on something,
It is because of something,
It is never without some cause, some seem, sown tight.

My belief is based on that what I see and hear,
On what my spectacles show me clear.
On the light, which travels, and sound which edges on,
On the past, which I presently observe, ahead of my spectacles,
As my ears hear music, and sounds bounce upon the seems,

Belief is based upon things, and beliefs based upon these things...

I love you, I do not deny these sorts of things,
At least not in my heart, where I feel such things and things,
But as the bells ring, and the snow freezes my inner being,
And as the icy boiling world reverberates, and sanctions all sorts of false beliefs,

Make me believe in you, make me take credence, and truth,
Teach me to love you, as I did Yesterday and yester-moment,
Teach me to love you, make me safe in belief and hope,
Show me the things that build belief,
Teach me the days of mistrust can be at an end in ever,
And never ever again need rule.

Make my belief wonderful, as once it was beautiful...

Belief is a thing... a thing based on other things.. https://t.co/KLnhap6RCI via @Audioboo

— Marc Evan Aupiais (@SACNSNew) February 9, 2014

But God did not answer me, amid the echoes of my mind.

I hoped. I wished. It had to be.
I believed in magic, some utter see.
I prodded my mind and saw all signs.
I admitted it must be true.

I was overjoyed, and filled with hope,
I talked to God, and saw miracles.
I awaited hope, and earthly gift.
In my youth I still believed... in the magic of mere thinking.

And in hopes and dreams and fortune told...
The magic of signs... a time, a card.

And life was magic, and magic was magical.

In my youth I foolishly believed.
In my joy I shared a thousand prayers with God,
I swore I heard him make them true,
I was certain all that was needed was prayer,
I was safe, and assured.
I fluffed my pillows and had happy dreams,
And I preferred dreams to dry, harsh reality.

And God is good and true,
And speaks to all humanity,
But no prayer or wishful wistful hope made my wishes but dreams.
No matter how loudly I talked in my state of awaken sleep.

And like the children's book,
I spoke with the moon, and the canyon of life echoed,
And I swear I heard a otherworldly reply,
A resonance of my own being and my inner love.
But God did not answer me, amid the echoes of my mind.

I gloried, and felt overjoyed,
I celebrated within my soul,
But God did not answer me within my soul.
And God, was distant, And God was hard to find.

In the foolishness of my youth,
I believed I could fly, or walk upon the water.
In my holy innocence, I believed God could institute change, when human hearts arrange,
I thought I could ask for vengeance, and have my enemies die a dreadful death,
I thought God put me on earth to speak to billions, and save mankind.

But God did not answer me, amid the echoes of my mind.
God did not hear me as I meditated so blind.
God did not answer me,
And amid an uncountable menagerie of signs,
And infinite sureness, from all around,

God did not answer me, amid the echoes of my mind.
And nor did the signs yield any but hardship and a path of captivity unto death.
And God did not answer me, amid the echoes of my mind.