The writings of Oddpoet

In Mem­ory of J.G. my friend and brother.
A vic­tim of the wolf.

Sleep eludes me.
Sweet obliv­ion not to be.

The hour of the Wolf approaches.
That tweener time.
Not quite night, not yet day.
It is the time that Demons and doubt hold sway.

I feel the Wolf’s fetid breath tainted
With sin and abom­i­na­tion
As it stalks me
Ready to rend my soul.

Always a step ahead
He is always a step behind
Like death
He stalks us all
Ready to pounce.

The Sun stretches, yawns
And cries in pain.
It screams “why?
Like Sisy­phus,
Must I be con­demned to this…

Pre­dictabil­ity…

Always to rise
Only to set
Again and again.
Will it never end?”

The Birds, the first to rise.
I hear there songs and their heart­felt cries.
Their sounds are so hon­est, open and true
A sign from The Divine I knew what to do

I began to fade
My ego is lost
I become ONE with the uni­verse
I gladly pay the cost.
A tiny thread
In the uni­ver­sal cloth
Made of sil­ver and gold and shim­mer­ing jew­elry embossed
I become the song of the birds, the whis­per­ing of the trees
The green of the grass and the hum­ming of bees

I turn to face my adver­sary
Weary of the chase,
My heart pounds blood
Which it would taste.
If I fal­tered for a moment
It would be the end.
Because if I lost
My soul it would rend.

It snarled:

“Do you know who I am?
The Demon of Despair
Always a bit­ter end!
Ren­der of souls, the cause of doomed love, and the cause of sui­cide
I am the dark night of the soul!”

“Human­ity is weak, their life so absurd.
There is no God have you not heard?
You search for mean­ing.
In a mean­ing­less world.
You toil in vain,
In a world full of pain.”

“Abad­don, I cried! I name you thus.
And I come armed with a Poet’s Pas­sion. A Mother’s Love. And help from above.

Did you not hear Faulkner at his Laureate’s address?
“That man will pre­vail”
Let that put your doubt to rest.

Kierkegaard, Sartre, Kafka and Camus
Shot arrows of truth, which flew straight and true.

Beethoven, Mozart, Brahms and Liszt
Lifted our souls with music of bliss.

Tol­stoy, Chekhov, Dos­toyevsky and King
Moved us with pas­sion and gave our hearts wings.

Humankind is not weak it is full of strength and might
Full of sim­ple kind­ness, love and Light.”

The Wolf howled, raged, spouted spit­tle and yelped
Snapped at the air with the hatred it felt.

It snarled, eyes glow­ing with fire and pain.
“It is true that you poets and writ­ers of song can buffer humankind and keep their hearts strong.
Ward away evil and right what was wrong.”

“But I know your heart
It will not always be this strong
I will have your soul
In this I am not wrong”

Sun­light peeked above the hori­zon
And chased the dark­ness that held sway
The Wolf turned and strolled on and sim­ply
walked away…

I sighed deeply.
Weary, Oh so weary
Weary of this fight
That rages every sin­gle night.

Beware the Wolf
It stalks us all