Season Two: Warrior As I Preach - Poetry Including Dragonism: The Unrisen

By Kenneth R. Gerety

Here are a few echoes from the Shiver, with also a few orders left to complete. There are also a few ornaments now assembled, to round out this imaginative feat. This next collection comes after and during a time of life set to pass. This comes before the next step, which may require a new army to mass. I’ll leave you, humble reader, to judge it, for I’ve no battle to fight, though I’d war. I may often seem as a preacher, but only since my wounds are still sore. I don’t have the energy to battle, so I’ll settle for a few simple lies. Illusions they may be, delusions of grace, but only in response to Dragon’s cries. Review with me a few tidbits, some tasty conclusions of zeal. My convictions are tightening over my heart, and with gracious skin, I now feel.

(This Season can also be found in “Collection 2: Rags of Gallery”)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781329521582

Book preview

Season Two: Warrior As I Preach - Poetry Including Dragonism: The Unrisen

Season Two: Warrior As I Preach - Poetry Including Dragonism: The Unrisen

By

Kenneth R. Gerety

Copyright

© 2012 Kenneth R. Gerety

All Rights Reserved.

Cover and book design by Kenneth R. Gerety

Autumn, 2012

A Letter To The Shiver King

My Lord, I am still here, defending.

And from your strength, lending.

This, I’m sending,

though I don’t know where I am.

I came, and know,

where not to go,

into realms you cannot reach,

beyond the breach.

I’ve looked, become a leach,

dirtied hands and tainted blade,

sword you made,

close to my heart, so it won’t fade,

Friction, this weapon,

from burning conception…

I wander in thought, forgive me.

I leached, yes, and watched at your behest.

I saw more than you would want.

That is my way, why I’m here.

I don’t know where I am,

but I no longer fear.

You thought we might be sheltered,

isolated and therefore fettered,

bound in our own Self,

and lacking wealth, therefore poor,

a bore, nothing more, wounded sore.

I’ve looked, leached from outside.

Injected into Self what I’d wish to deny.

The Wish … no, a mystery,

our origin is history.

What would you have me do?

I write this, now, to you.

Shall I problematize some more?

Break holes into the floor?

Dig deeper into the foundation?

Scar further joy and elation?

Our dedication is not to this.

We’ve built this bridge over the Abyss.

So let us walk across, calm,

avoid the slippery preoccupied balm

of ignorant blinded thought.

Blinded by seeing too much,

looking too hard, too long,

using revelation like a crutch.

Our structure is our own,

malleable Architecture, no clone,

no falsity or lie, no fib, no cry.

We won’t die today.

Listen well to what next I say…

Access

Waiting for Nature to coalesce…

At rest?

Consuming information to process…

Excess?

Slowing the flow of regress…

Depress?

Seeing reality half undressed…

Feel blessed?

Wishing to climb over the high crest…

Manifest?

Shivering at the burn of hot flesh…

Caress?

Asking, and pleading, for access…

Got less?

Overloaded by Mind’s constant test…

Invest?

Build and maintain Wisdom’s nest…

Palimpsest?

Dreams, a running rampaging mess…

Now rest.

Addendum To A Shaded Prophecy

I can see all, knowing nothing,

though none can see me, being everything.

My place is the darkness, cocooned in a seed.

Light is beyond my grasp, a beacon to heed.

No one can watch my tears, as they weaken the shell.

No one can see my pain, unseeing their own hell.

I search for myself, no mirror to aid,

yet, in vain, for I’m yet to