ORACLE1

NORTHERN LIGHTS


He had cast his vessel upon the waters;
across the great divide he sailed to her,
blue waves against the steel gray sky,
he sailed into clouds of myrrh.

Far from the Emerald Isle of Moons,
where she offered up her surrender,
she was separated from her soul and mate
and banished from her world of splendor.

From the frozen tundra she cried out, though
her voice scarcely lifted her woeful prayer.
The vapors amassed in her fragile sphere
shattering her song upon the air.

He felt her deep within his heart.
He didn’t know where the wind would lead,
but he had to find the love he lost,
so, he knelt and prayed god-speed.

Echoing through the icy glaciers came
incantations of her mystical majesty.
She summoned her lover to join her
there across the thrashing sea.

Barren lay the land before her as
she cut through the icy frost,
holding fast to the ancient charms
to recover the passage lost.

The sea was suddenly calm before him.
The waters were like a sheet of glass,
cracked and laid open for man and vessel
– there, appeared the Northern Pass!

The Snowy Owl took her flight
to where ocean tides convene.
She would guide the valiant mariner
to reclaim his noble queen.

But as they reached across the void,
the ground shook with an angry spasm.
She looked her last into his eyes
before he fell into the chasm.

Fingering the golden amulets,
she whispered her dying prayer and
while censers carried her intercessions,
she jumped and joined him there.

Up along the great arctic circle,
where there are no lingering days or nights,
they walk together now, free to love
illuminating the land - the northern lights.

By M Teresa Clayton - inspired by this painting by Michael Raymon Whelan - Thank you Michael.

northern lights (2)

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10157041680196810&set=p.10157041680196810&type=3&theater

Prelude Matthew

VAGABOND LOST

The sky is so vast, and the night is so long
Don't know who I am or to whom I belong
How could something so right go so terribly wrong?

I am

Trying to speak, but I'm fumbling
Walking the line but I'm stumbling…

Tired and weak and I'm crumbling
Lost in my mind is so humbling

The shadows run from the beckoning light
Colors I've known have vanished from sight 
How can I win the war if I'm losing each fight?

Reason lives somewhere in the great beyond
I know all the answers, yet I cannot respond
I've become insanity's vagabond

I am

Trying to speak, but I'm fumbling
Walking the line but I'm stumbling 
Tired and weak and I'm crumbling
Lost in my mind is so humbling

M Teresa Clayton

Vagabond Lost

There was death hanging in the air today
Not just any death, not just any man, takes a bit of breadth to really understand
The brevity of the situation here; the gravity of the speculation clearer
There are no words to say, just pray.

He left us when the sun went down last night
He was in his prime, the panic clings, knowing not the time or by what means, 
Full throttle down that slippery slope, pills and a bottle; periphery hope
Not enough to make it right, he couldn’t fight

Found him lying in the hall by the bedroom door
This man who out lived his youth simply could not forgive the truth
When spoken by those ghosts; those broken souls he needed most
Needs for so much more, pleads the touch they all ignored

Death waits until we call for it to come - come stay
Now he sleeps free of pain, she weeps for the man insane
Seconds become suspended here, inside this distended sphere
The room turns a muted gray; the gloom churns out a crude display

He chose to take his own life, he took the poison and died
Depression begs the question why, repression wins but the best will try
To find those feeling senses as all the mind reeling commences
Was this all just selfish pride? Gone are the answers with his suicide.

M TERESA M Teresa Clayton

SUICIDE

THE RECKONING
Silence! – can you hear me speaking? 
I’m talking to you through your tears. 
You are captured beneath the shadows, 
They have buried you through the years.

Rise, you can hear them beckoning. 
Rise and face your own reckoning.

The voice inside compels you here.

Be silent and listen to what evil wrought. 
My light seeks the darkness within you, 
Preparing for the battle fought. 
Fear not your own awakening.

I’m talking to you through your dreams. 
Slumber has held you in its spell, 
Sanity silenced by your screams.

Rise, you can hear them beckoning. 
Rise and face your own reckoning.

They will never leave you alone, 
These demons that have you possessed. 
While time moves forever forward, 
Your veracity has regressed.

Listen to the call of the angels, 
Their wings an ominous thunder 
To the powers that hold you down 
And pull your life asunder.

Silence! – I am calling to you. 
You are drowning in your own tears 
Rise and follow the sound of my voice, 
Throw off the weight of your fears. 
Rise, you can hear them beckoning. 
Rise and face your own reckoning.

The battle for your soul has begun. 
The war of wisdoms must be won.

M Teresa Clayton

THE RECKONING

She fell into a deep trance
Watching the demon’s dance.
Should He be given a chance,
Shall we also set the cadence?

The answer came to her as she dreamed.
Everything is a diabolical schemed.
Trust us when we begin our screamed;
The Banshees have what they deemed.

While He whimpers and whines,
Now forgetting His lines,
Waiting for heavenly signs
To affirm what He divines.

Circe will not protect him,
Serving as prophet on a whim,
His light is now growing dim
As truth drowns when it cannot swim.

Then our Oracle, Sybil, spoke
Child of Lamia began to choke,
Her mother watched her blood soak,
When she bled him till He finally broke.

Dodona, First of Delphic prophecy
Inhaled the mist so she could see.
Blinded by light, was never free –
The mist showed her what would be.

Many were the Seers of time,
Oft’ given in riddles and in rhyme,
The Master becomes the Mime
And vanishes beneath the Lyme.
Words used to communicate,
Can sow seeds of love or hate.
No in-betweens found to date.
He is impatient, He must wait.

The demons are circling the fire,
He will lose His life’s true desire,
A member of demon’s lust require,
Loss of the gold He would acquire.

The cackle and laugh at His fate,
He asked for advice a day too late,
He has no patience and cannot wait,
Seven vices now become eight.

The Oracles, His soul would not save,
Little men must learn how to behave!
In the presence of the Prophetess braved,
She advises Gods, not the depraved.

The insult to injury, as they would say,
Slapped one to the ground on that day.
Not one angel raised a voice to pray – 
Not one forgives this arrogant display.

The other, He chose to question her worth,
Was she a fakir, not a creature of birth -
But of spectres, illusions of the earth,
The stench that filled her in the Firth?

Death follows darkly, a deathly shoal,
A dark and dastardly stench of soul.
Death shall become the Master’s goal,
Far, His fall from wall and knoll.
The King shall take His fatal fall,
Off the ledge of knoll and wall –
Answering the demons worldly call,
Belongs now to no one – no one at all.

M Teresa Clayton

Delphic Oracle V

We conform to the norm, 
The day-to-day dramatic play, 
Lines memorized and we perform, 
Changes terrorize, we’ll lose our way.

We learn by rote, recite each quote 
From the pages written by wise sages. 
With our pledge we seal our inclusion 
On the edge of our own delusion.

We regret what we forget, 
Too far away to call back that day, 
Blamed, “you’re a sinner”, they scold; 
Shamed, “believe what you’re told!”

I wiped away the tear, shaking in fear 
“I should believe, open my heart and receive”.
It didn’t make sense in my own little mind, 
The evidence simply wasn’t there to find.

I challenged the rule and was branded a fool, 
Branded Satan’s child, possessed and gone wild, 
Excommunicated for questioning authority, 
Humiliated and silenced by the majority.

I walked alone seeking the truth on my own. 
I finally understood as much as one could, 
That the answers were always within me, 
Quiet whispers that would set my soul free.

Go on you followers of man and do what you can, 
Pay your way with gold and believe what you’re told, 
Run from yourselves, you can’t be held accountable then, 
Put your soul on a shelf insurmountable in the end.

Pray to your father, and to his son; pray the end has not begun. 
Amen to the scriptures, and its choking constrictures. 
The martyrs pray they’ll rise up to the lord, 
The departers will create paradise and live their reward.

M Teresa Clayton

Conform to the Norm

CORPORATE WHORE
Sitting upon their gilded high-rise thrones Overseeing this paper realm, this institution of would-be Kings ruling over the drones, these nine-to-five whores, in pseudo-prostitution. The alarm sounds, the minutes counting down, people rushing to make it to the Masters' bed to kiss his hand, kiss his ass, kiss his crown; the depravity of these Masters must be fed. No need to see beyond their hallowed greed, Gluttony makes them fat in their swinish excess. And, lusting for those who think themselves freed, Lying under their weight; payment for our "success". You envy me and, then, I envy you... We both despise the other's spoils with foolish pride. Carrots dangling for the hares to pursue, We lie flat on our backs with our legs opened wide. As these King's grow wearisome at end of day We return home and try to wash away the shame. Have we not earned our portion and our pay? Are we not pawns in our Masters' daily game? We will someday discover we are the slave; Corporate prostitutes, eager to please and ignore The dignity and worth we bartered and gave Freely... we have become establishment's whore.   M Teresa Clayton

Corporate Whore

POLITICIANS
Politicians seated in their Trojan horse Offered to the people as a gift of trust. They disguise themselves in false remorse While they feed on their greed and lust. Lives in the balance as the door swings wide And the politics slither onto hallowed ground, Revealing the wickedness that lies inside And the orator bellows an ominous sound. The war fought on the backs of the free. Deception is the magic in the politician’s hand, Taken from trust that was you and was me. We await the executioners command. Gather the weak from the rest of the crowd And let the strong consume their least, Then we will conquer haughty and proud As sacrifice for their political feast. The power of the greedy consumes us all. The snake will even consume his own tail. As we sit idle and watch the kingdom fall Listening to the orators as they beg and wail. Inevitable marks the end of days. Every man is called to the piper he pays.
M Teresa Clayton

MTClayton