Bloodlight

© 2003 Christopher Fulbright
All rights reserved.

First sweep
rips blinding red
searching ocean cliffs
glowing through the scarlet mists
over roaring waves
where
beyond those black silhouettes of clefts
on the distant horizon of city and sea
a seraph pauses in midnight flight
wings bowed atop the wind
another soul-searching
time-traveler by
second sweep

... lost … lost ...
here's where the lost are found:
beyond these intangible gates lies Valhalla and Shangrila –
your cold white Heaven or warm red Hell
where as disembodied spirits
we roam through translucent fields, self-conceived
and still find our gods
dying in dark alleys
in shallow pools beneath shredded palls of
emotion, our gods
lie
bleeding, beaten, and bound.

On the ...
third sweep
there’s a ...
bloodless child found
beneath blackened waters
on a fog-laden night
and the scarlet beams re-probed the ocean’s depths
because ...
there are always more of the lost in the murk
sinking slowly into this blood-billowing sea
whose sorrowful hearts can’t bleed for me
though I'm nearby and drowning fast
and no one hears my dying scream
or snapshot flashes of the past
the living dead
a dying star by
-eyesee-
the fourth sweep

... gone ... gone ...
here's where they all have gone:
beneath these sapphire waves lies Lemuria
and Shangrila –
your cold white Heaven or warm red Hell
where as reindentured servants they
struggle to rebecome, to be reself-conceived
still believing in false gods
grinning faithlessly, mirthlessly
from behind their fang-scarred veils, preaching
profit and greed, our gods
lie
to the queen as well as her pawns.

-Isee-
-eyesseeing-
fifth sweep
-seeingred-
bright crimson flash
neon tendrils windwhipped and rising
becoming a branch of tentacles
and I hear mere whisps of a whisper
I see
a color once deeper than red
as intangible as phantoms
or the angry orange streaks of a city sky at dawn
and we slide close beneath your silken sheets
and forget to close our eyes
-myeyes-
and sleep and dream of
-myeyessee-
the shimmering seraph
the lurking demon by
-you-
the sixth sweep ...

seventh sweep
brilliant probe
brilliant minds
given in and given up
we should hang our heads for killers
shed our tears for crystal whores
for the homeless who lie starving
and still ask for little more than
what there appears to be out there from in here
But they all seem to be

... watching me ...
... watching me ...

as I stand waiting for my God;
watching this procession through mid-town Manhattan
swirling whispers of deception in Shangrila
rumors that kill; striking depressive gray notes
freeing the possessed from their bonds
condemning the evils to their fates
thrust into the ocean tide, sucked into the undertow
mainlining sorrow from the collective conscience
vices
insecurities
dark, dark, and cold ... you’ll feel
dead hands, colder hearts
see
glassy eyes
-Iseeyour-
glassy eyes and bloodshot gaze
staring back at me.

Your eyes are tired, you need your sleep.
Four days we worshipped
the altar piled high with glistening guts
we killed and the bloodlight flashed
on its
eighth sweep.

Trying to find you out here somewhere for some time now ...
Of course,
I knew I'd have to come alone.

final sweep
last bloodlight flash
Low thunder roars
I have come to find myself again –
because no one answered any prayers last night.

But here, now,
–before the moment is gone and the bloodlight grows dim–
I just needed to know ... what I came here to find
a map through the darkness
a path through my mind
to the fountain of sorrow
the scars of my youth
and there in the darkness ...

... therein lies the truth.

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