Samuel Taylor’s Cool Ranch Stanzas

19 04 2017

Music is my Albatross,
Pulling on my neck, dragging down my soul.
Through the orange yellows of Dante’s inferno.
To the steel blue fires, the true gates of hell.

Until the heaviness weighs on my brain.
Until, Under Pressure,
adding one note and rhyme,
To beauty created and calling it mine.
Eyes accustomed to the eerie glow,
the lies I believe it’s not touching my soul.

My hair, my face, my vanity,
I clutch with all might believing it’s me.
My clenched fist straining,
last strength waning.

The angelically wrought gates show their true face,
as blue fire burns cells inside and out,
from where, I can’t say, a word enters thought.

The powerhouse of the cell.
Poetically meaning the fear of might.
The fear of true power, the fear of true sight.

No wonder the Light Bringer lives here in hell,
not feeling creation became scared of himself.
With itching and squirming,
began to swallow his tail.

Is this legend boring? Or you bore us!
A leg only ends when you can’t feel the toes,
‘Yours are getting closer.’, whispers Albatross.

The Weight, The Band, sinking still,
Approaching faster the far end of hell.
Leaving the blue, into the candle,
the brightness could only be heaven’s mantle.

Thoughts flowing faster
than humming birds sing,
Sheer momentum alone
could break fix anything.
A camel’s back, a crystal glass,
a guitar string.

Now baffled, confused, at a loss,
at the truth revealed through my Albatross;
No longer buried, no longer dead,
ascending all heights
with the Treble Clef!