The Patron Saint
Personal Foreward:
What if Time was not a Singular being, but an entity with plurality? What if Time were not linear? And what if Time were unaware-- the idea having never crossed it's mind --of those concepts we call past, present, and future?
What if Time were but a tool in the hands of a mad god? That like a cloth it is composed of both warp and weft and so could be manipulated to the designs of the weaver. If Time is but a thread in a bit of cloth then it traces itself back and forth over the same ground, building upon itself until the resulting weave becomes a pattern of infinite complexity.
For someone who stands outside of Time and not bound by it's constraints, the fabric of Time might seem a beautiful thing, a fitting garment for a god, such as one who might use Time to torment the soul bound by the constaints of passing Time. Might not even Santa then be able to deliver gifts to every child, for every year that they believe in him, in one single night?
If Santa were the shuttle moving through the warp and weft of Time, and because it is but one nights' work-- however long the night --what would it do to the mind of a man so cursed?
The Following is a poem about just such a man; doomed to fly throughout one eternal and torturous night, unable to catch the sun, and slowly going insane.
Reader Beware: It's a long read. 13 stanzas of 13 lines each.
"The Patron Saint"
It will never end...
the tearing of veils
Ripping the fabric of space and time
His dementia unbound~
This mad eternal journey
this single night
this one endless night
for the patron saint of insanity
Tattered vermilion, sooted ermine
and the wailing and biting of winds~
Their moaning and screaming
in ears that have forgotten the sound
Of human voices and laughter
It will never end...
this tearing of veils
his own mind~
"Why? Oh, what and how
is the when and where of my purpose?
Forever drawn, hungry
and thirsting for answers?"
And the Patron Saint screams
and screaming cracks the whip in his hand
o'er the heads of eight demon stag
their cloven hooves clicking
drawing sparks
upon the plane of this one endless night
It will never end...
the tearing of fabric~
There is but one bolt
and Hell hath perverted
both weft and warp
And the Patron Saint, the shuttle
by which the mirth of children wove
"Just once!"
screaming to whatever god will listen
"Just once to plunge knives into breasts!"
His madness but a petty gods' whim
and knives but whimsies
pulled from the sack
It will never end...
his madness, the voyage, the whimsies~
Flying madly
rooftop to rooftop
the cold death of winter
burning madness to the bone
And if veils be torn
they are certainly torn here~
The agonizing press of turgid flesh
forced through pipes and chimneys
feeling scrape of skin on stone
And the imperfection of steel
gouging flesh
It will never end...
the similarities ~ the sameness of it all
Evergreen false or true
Milk and cookies
"No feast there!"
Only scents seem to change
Pheromones ~ joy, sadness and decay
even fear, that too
For the patron saint of insanity
no choice exists but to enter
thrashing and screaming
in mindless horror into every den
and another veil torn
It will never end...
the sack gorging on whimsies
Ever full~
relentlessly so
and bulimically poised
routinely vomiting
‘neath each dead or dying tree
to the delight of starving ingrates
young, and old alike
and blissfully unaware
of the patron saint
the mad endless voyage
and insanity
It will never end...
the tearing of veils
quickening dementia
and slipping unseen
into havens washed clean
a standard 'gainst the intrusion of madness~
But there he stands
"How many more?"
the patron saint screams
"Will not anyone wake?"
voice tortured and desperate
poised over the simplicity of sleep
But none ever do
It will never end...
and peering into the sack
for knife or axe
poison or gun
and the sack smiling, mocking
hideously laughing~
continuing it's vomitous endeavor
to fill each sock to bursting~
candied canes
gingerbreads and whimsies
And the patron saint screams again
"Awake! Fire! Foe! Awake I say!"
Yet like graining sacks of rot, none ever do
It will never end...
the curse never lifted
To each house
ten times ten-thousand times, and
the gluttonous child ungrateful, never sated~
"Perhaps this child will die
that I need never visit here again!"
But the veil is already torn
and each one dead
sees ten more born in its place…
The curse calls to him
pulling him up through the pipes, to the sleigh
and the stamping hooves of reindeer dead
"Will it never end?"
the patron saint screams
insanely and joyously cracking his whip
and the mad voyage beginning anew
weeping to freeze
And burning the mask of his flesh~
Cackling and cracking
cracking and cackling
endlessly moving between the weave
of dusk and dawn~
the sun become a fable
"Yessss! The sun! I must catch the sun!"
whilst cracking the whip to shatter the night
"It will never end...
this one maddening night"
But a light glimmers in a crazed eye
and screaming, sings out
"On Comet! On Cupid! On Donner and Blitzen!
On Dasher! On Dancer! On Prancer and Vixen!
Catch the sun! Catch the day!
Dash away, Damn you all! Dash a-way!"
The horizon brightens ~ fingernail thin
Knuckles whiten then crack and bleed
and gleaming hope blistering within
but the curse pulls him screaming
Into darkness ~ and down again
No, it will never end...
Another rooftop
another veil torn
another vomitous endeavor in hand~
The sack full
and the patron saint despairing
pulled screaming down
through pipes dark and cruel
to the heart of hearth and home
and the sickening taste of milk and cookies
wishing for but a lone sharp knife
the sack retching and purging
its ribbons and bows
And so it never ends...
soon it's back to the sleigh
to eight demon stag
the tearing of veils~
and hope rekindled
in the heart of the patron saint of insanity
The cracking of whips
the mad chase through winter skies
freezing winds
and biting cold
to catch the sun and end it all
and screaming in rage
"Damn you all and to all a good night!"
ELAshley
Written betweenJanuary 1, 1999 and February 3, 1999
"Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!"
Revised: 031199.122103.1
Revised: 071401.014321.1
Revised: 122801.123431.1
What if Time was not a Singular being, but an entity with plurality? What if Time were not linear? And what if Time were unaware-- the idea having never crossed it's mind --of those concepts we call past, present, and future?
What if Time were but a tool in the hands of a mad god? That like a cloth it is composed of both warp and weft and so could be manipulated to the designs of the weaver. If Time is but a thread in a bit of cloth then it traces itself back and forth over the same ground, building upon itself until the resulting weave becomes a pattern of infinite complexity.
For someone who stands outside of Time and not bound by it's constraints, the fabric of Time might seem a beautiful thing, a fitting garment for a god, such as one who might use Time to torment the soul bound by the constaints of passing Time. Might not even Santa then be able to deliver gifts to every child, for every year that they believe in him, in one single night?
If Santa were the shuttle moving through the warp and weft of Time, and because it is but one nights' work-- however long the night --what would it do to the mind of a man so cursed?
The Following is a poem about just such a man; doomed to fly throughout one eternal and torturous night, unable to catch the sun, and slowly going insane.
Reader Beware: It's a long read. 13 stanzas of 13 lines each.
"The Patron Saint"
It will never end...
the tearing of veils
Ripping the fabric of space and time
His dementia unbound~
This mad eternal journey
this single night
this one endless night
for the patron saint of insanity
Tattered vermilion, sooted ermine
and the wailing and biting of winds~
Their moaning and screaming
in ears that have forgotten the sound
Of human voices and laughter
It will never end...
this tearing of veils
his own mind~
"Why? Oh, what and how
is the when and where of my purpose?
Forever drawn, hungry
and thirsting for answers?"
And the Patron Saint screams
and screaming cracks the whip in his hand
o'er the heads of eight demon stag
their cloven hooves clicking
drawing sparks
upon the plane of this one endless night
It will never end...
the tearing of fabric~
There is but one bolt
and Hell hath perverted
both weft and warp
And the Patron Saint, the shuttle
by which the mirth of children wove
"Just once!"
screaming to whatever god will listen
"Just once to plunge knives into breasts!"
His madness but a petty gods' whim
and knives but whimsies
pulled from the sack
It will never end...
his madness, the voyage, the whimsies~
Flying madly
rooftop to rooftop
the cold death of winter
burning madness to the bone
And if veils be torn
they are certainly torn here~
The agonizing press of turgid flesh
forced through pipes and chimneys
feeling scrape of skin on stone
And the imperfection of steel
gouging flesh
It will never end...
the similarities ~ the sameness of it all
Evergreen false or true
Milk and cookies
"No feast there!"
Only scents seem to change
Pheromones ~ joy, sadness and decay
even fear, that too
For the patron saint of insanity
no choice exists but to enter
thrashing and screaming
in mindless horror into every den
and another veil torn
It will never end...
the sack gorging on whimsies
Ever full~
relentlessly so
and bulimically poised
routinely vomiting
‘neath each dead or dying tree
to the delight of starving ingrates
young, and old alike
and blissfully unaware
of the patron saint
the mad endless voyage
and insanity
It will never end...
the tearing of veils
quickening dementia
and slipping unseen
into havens washed clean
a standard 'gainst the intrusion of madness~
But there he stands
"How many more?"
the patron saint screams
"Will not anyone wake?"
voice tortured and desperate
poised over the simplicity of sleep
But none ever do
It will never end...
and peering into the sack
for knife or axe
poison or gun
and the sack smiling, mocking
hideously laughing~
continuing it's vomitous endeavor
to fill each sock to bursting~
candied canes
gingerbreads and whimsies
And the patron saint screams again
"Awake! Fire! Foe! Awake I say!"
Yet like graining sacks of rot, none ever do
It will never end...
the curse never lifted
To each house
ten times ten-thousand times, and
the gluttonous child ungrateful, never sated~
"Perhaps this child will die
that I need never visit here again!"
But the veil is already torn
and each one dead
sees ten more born in its place…
The curse calls to him
pulling him up through the pipes, to the sleigh
and the stamping hooves of reindeer dead
"Will it never end?"
the patron saint screams
insanely and joyously cracking his whip
and the mad voyage beginning anew
weeping to freeze
And burning the mask of his flesh~
Cackling and cracking
cracking and cackling
endlessly moving between the weave
of dusk and dawn~
the sun become a fable
"Yessss! The sun! I must catch the sun!"
whilst cracking the whip to shatter the night
"It will never end...
this one maddening night"
But a light glimmers in a crazed eye
and screaming, sings out
"On Comet! On Cupid! On Donner and Blitzen!
On Dasher! On Dancer! On Prancer and Vixen!
Catch the sun! Catch the day!
Dash away, Damn you all! Dash a-way!"
The horizon brightens ~ fingernail thin
Knuckles whiten then crack and bleed
and gleaming hope blistering within
but the curse pulls him screaming
Into darkness ~ and down again
No, it will never end...
Another rooftop
another veil torn
another vomitous endeavor in hand~
The sack full
and the patron saint despairing
pulled screaming down
through pipes dark and cruel
to the heart of hearth and home
and the sickening taste of milk and cookies
wishing for but a lone sharp knife
the sack retching and purging
its ribbons and bows
And so it never ends...
soon it's back to the sleigh
to eight demon stag
the tearing of veils~
and hope rekindled
in the heart of the patron saint of insanity
The cracking of whips
the mad chase through winter skies
freezing winds
and biting cold
to catch the sun and end it all
and screaming in rage
"Damn you all and to all a good night!"
ELAshley
Written betweenJanuary 1, 1999 and February 3, 1999
"Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!"
Revised: 031199.122103.1
Revised: 071401.014321.1
Revised: 122801.123431.1
from the mind of... Eric | 11:47 PM
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