Billy Goat

Billy goat told them how Salem was lost,
sailing through tumors and murmured moans in the frost
cost an imp wishes, how they envisioned the image of God,
Twitching in repetition as Lepers just arched into rock,
Barged into hoofed quarters and continued to order the flock,
clocks ticking so why we sticking round on this block?
ground mimics tin heights, tonight’s the winters crop,
Can’t he limit how Billy fills the dark,
with phantom angst as his pride hangs dancing in fog.
Grab the grey book pageant and imagine the cost..
lost the tapes they say saw me snatching the tags from this cross,
bragging how they bagged Satan, but why don’t they state how I made life rise from the moss,
screaming “pops its alright, I taught Cyclops how to write with one eye and walk with two left feet” left crying if you believe that love’s blind.
Try dying twice awake, sheesh when I sleep I’m alive,
with ruby red cheeks weeping the thief has arrived,
silently cloaked and violently floats through design
told them of Pieces and Christs rise to divine,
How the tiger turns to lion and
Venus’s streaming pleats took a seat beside mine.
Decide who’s to rectify the eccentric owls cry,
repent for the pessimistic who sanctify angered vibes,
mystic crafts garnered, armed the divide
but I….
I held the precious child speaking tongues between smiles,
leaping from this trees brow ailed by a fraille outline,
how they made it look easy,
believe me I’ve tried,
to sketch on fleshes surface and give purpose to mine.
Written in cursive with hands tied finger tips gripping the sunrise
tied to Poseidons sinking wit and split from the wise.
It ripped through summer gales, trailing the vines,
displayed in Mercury’ fiery pulse and fell to the side…
but I…
I’ve seen the night rise in my prism of light,
been imprisoned by doves wings under the timid stars eyes.
Will it devour my soul?, or will it teach me to prize?
Reach me liberty, Shit, we owe it to life.
Can the shuttle bring peace while we’re huddled in ice,
but will it devour my soul? its so cold we might just give it a try.
Why’s the weather changing? Let’s arrange to play blind,
and cage your heart in the lake made from an angels final cry.

© Myles Dacus 2013

Faith For Sale

I’ve seen HER coming, strung from this beam,
Humming in HER winter stumbling and hung out of reach,
The perfect life is a dream?
I guess it means the world’s at peace when we sleep.
Do you believe? Why? HER eyes were built to deceive,
instead of building hope SHE blew through like the breeze.
Twice now I passed HER courting the streets on HER knees,
thought I was humbled to find home, alone on my feet.
Nice to meet the daylight bright in defeat,
like the silence engulfed me breathing life in HIS screams,
breeding pride, where HE once tried to teach me to see.
My ink ran dry and HE taught my pen how to sail,
and then HE sold it to me, like there was weight in HIS tale,
Waiting for the receipt as HE painted HER face pale
HE places a tag on HER grave like the truth’s in retail
but it’s human nature that dictates,
my faith is for sale.

© Myles Dacus 2013

Gambling Man

I’l believe it when I see it,

When I’m left still breathing in death,

like light whispers that whisk the life from my breath,

slightly frail, ailed demons seem at peace in this bed,

but belief in my dreams, sprouting deceit in my depths,

it’s doubled the numbers but divided the rise of the blessed,

and I’l be damned if I chance dancing with this noose round my neck,

but it’s pure as the truth, that proves I’m used to this pen,

and says I’m who? Questions the I in life and how I survive through this text,

gambled this debt rolling dice to the sound of my life entwined in the bet,

how my heart cried when this art came to collect,

and how am I supposed to smile with this fucking price on my head?

It tripled the sixes, to double or nothing and I’m left with nothing to give,

troubled by days, these demons keeping blades to my wrists,

he promised me help but I,

keep fighting the urges to quit.

© Myles Dacus 2013

Smile When I’m Deceased

Let me touch your crystal flesh,

smashing upon the rocks of my deceit,

let the fire rage upon your breath,

and let your polished hair,

lay soft against my cheeks,

embed your constricted love, within my chest,

fill my lungs with your hatred,

of spoken words,

and let, me be the harbinger of,

my hearts, death,

let me touch your pain, and

give you the world to lay

your troubled mind to rest,

ask me questions of this life,

when I’m deceased and only then,

declare your heartache,

flourish in the joys of my mistakes

and grow roses upon my grave,

that die in dismal recollection,

of the lives your love could have saved…

© Myles Dacus 2013

The Who

Is it far fetched when garments garner stars flesh
and lets us ponder upon the comets last wish?
Ask what,
basking sun rays plagued by the darks star dust,
The WHO must have mustered the blues before us.
The WHO said it, I meant choose your sedative son,
when I see babies playing in mud pools fooling truth and loosing their youth young,
It’s done, the WHO came and laid the moon down,
look as love comes front of your cheque book crooked frown.
Took it to heart sharp with eyes round,
Can’t I part your mind and die where your souls found?
round and round, the WHO keeps spinning time bound,
down and down pounded out of blind clouds.
Who are we proud of?
This time the WHO is present and let’s find the past tense
fenced in denial.
I penned it in a whisper, slipping through her blistered eyes,
Child, why???
Shelled in misfit lines, this citrus bride marred to part divine,
farther than the WHO spooled through Cupids rise.
Few knew the putrid hoofs might,
shackled lucid in the truest moonlight,
soon danced on faceless graves, hatred trailing blue in hindsight,
labelling proof and arrived at, the WHO must have gave us life!
Save us, when days tripled sixteen ways gave us night,
described in mystique and killed his bride,
misread Exodus, hence the plead to fight,
need for peace corps, he brought signs in section five,
dissected by, live mimes directed by the silent hype,
neglect the WHO???
Shit, we already tried.
Who blew the moon out?
Rippled through the groove, proving the fool shouts,
about the clock tick writing down wicked doubts,
slipping through the rooms mouth.
He moved to mind play tracing the true route,
bound to find it here.
Louder than the angels whisper rain in natures ear,
Has the frown finally disappeared?
Hades teach us, these teeth are aching to tear your flesh,
Where were we when HE graced Eve with breath?
Placed me to teach and I gave each a page from the sacred text.
The WHO knew we’d ask and blessed each with legs,
hence the Wiseman who takes his pain to bed
and wakes a fool taking the day to death,
praying some may but they hang before he even breaks a sweat.

© Myles Dacus 2013

Deader Than You

She walked by slow and, dead as the night,
alive in the glow, but below she was hollow inside.
I gripped my chest and started to bite
teeth through my flesh and left my vision to die.
As she turned, face washed in her pride
my eyes started burning as my body yearned to reply,
skin dripping from this chalice I’m tripping with,
questions in mind
Is this a movie or am I living the lies?
Her lips quivered and burst out in screams
as my ears bled I kept my eyes fixed to the screen.
Hands blistered as I lifted each one to reach,
at thoughts as I saw the beast growing slow in her speech.
Perched on her shoulders, the older she seemed,
and only ever distant yet as distinct as the breeze
as it flowed silent stalking, and violently brought me to my knees.
Ive seen her father the b*st*rd sporting a grin as he leaves.
What am I?
A puppeteer that impregnates the day with my breath?
She has something to say as lungs collapse, and cave in her chest.
Legs give way while she smiles carrying child to the depths,
tears barely wet as her blood finds escape through her neck,
and falls to the floor in pools grasping for help at my legs.
I knelt in her essence, to hear the whispers of death.
“This is it!” I told myself and held her skeleton close to my flesh,
Looked in her eyes and with a stutter i said…
“The world’s lost an angel!” I cry as I turn from the sun
My words were never perfect but you made them feel perfect enough.
Hardly ever there though I always wished that I was.
I’ve lost to this demon yet I’ve seen the fight through.
Searched for an answer and got consumed with the truth.
You may be dying,
but I’m,
still deader than you.

© Myles Dacus 2013

Ode To The Gale

The nightingale asked

“How Strong is this branch?

If I added some weight would it buckle?”

The tree answered back

“How strong is your faith?

If I added some weight would it crumble?”

Subtle? Yes, but no-one knows this tree is waiting to dance

brandish these feathered scales with these gales in its branch.

Stands alone on its hilltop in an obsidian trance,

subtly it jests ready to let this mantis eat from its plans,

run through this again,

I don’t get where it’s gone, how do I give her a chance?

Fans these pages in the moonlight, soon they tangoed

in a fit of romance,

the tree with the nightingale and his faith in her hands.

Face in the feathers of fire, finally singed,

while the tree drifts away leaving the night to sing.

Ringing on her perch above this spinning globe and longing to be allowed in,

bring with a star in the eye of a child or offer us hope then.

The branch is getting weary, these nightingales already asleep,

amongst all the foliage while the tree is comatose we can hear them argue between…

The nightingale who asked

“How Strong is this branch?

If I added some weight would it buckle?”

And the tree who answered back

“How strong is your faith?

If I added some weight would it crumble?”

Tweet, tweet, sings the gale, pale with a million mouths to feed.

Heed this summer comes to show there’s only one apple between all of these leaves.

Pleads to the hive, how to disguise the withering fruit in its cheeks.

Why oh why wonder to squander your wealth?

Is it really safe to ponder upon the roots of your health?

Tell the sun the moons dying, the sky replies that this morning is made out of ice.

Winter in a wonderland in a land only in this nightingales eyes.

Burning from cold, growing old in this bland state of reprise.

If ashes were to ashes as dust to dust,

you might realise,

the tree and the gale are both us.

Looking in the mirror everyday but never seeing within,

every-time that reflection stares us down we must remember to sing!

I asked myself

“How strong are my branches?

If I added some weight would they buckle?”

My reflection answered back

“How strong is your faith?

If I added some weight would it crumble?”

Just Love

I’ve felt love, never left it to trust myself,

hence the session I cussed and lust just set my wealth.

It’s a pretty penny, paper, faker than the Us they sell.

Hand in hand I planned it to crack our shells,

but I’ll be dammed if I’ll stake “my” to “self”

my design and the way we felt,

its my demise rife in the way she helped

and I hate the “I” in the pride we held.

Decide the safest way to break the ice we melt,

played the joker, folks holdem in the times we dealt.

Shout for the blizzard, I’m bringing winter in troves

losing my mind alone throwing hope at these ghosts.

Boasts, she couldn’t find her soul roped in these poems,

tucked gently, hence the reason I chose,

the season I’m promised through the beauty she holds.

The duty I conceded to boast in the movement that duly unfolds,

a pearl of wisdom spinning the world that she knows,

and surely I’ll wake with my heart frozen and cold?

dreams cracked by the mistakes and the stones that I’ve hurled

times change, but I’m changing the “I” in me first

lie to me breathing the fire that pries at my worst

and tries every second to recollect the sighs that I’ve cursed

by my only wish and I’m dying to change

by reinvention, not intent to die in this place

but who am I? I rely on the habits you break

and the sadness in my soul resigned to the depths of this lake

revived to allow the whole world to witness my life as it breaks

yet when she smiles its like my thirst quenched by her name

through my driest summers I promise her words are the rain

and the darkest winter nights, skies brighten with the sight of her face

the sweetest dew in tulip fields colours couldn’t match her shades

all my love in a heart shaped locket hanging from the threads of my faith

and I dread the hour headed this way,

with every breath I’m blessed with I’ll live for the day

to hold you and tell you I care

to show the truth that I’m blessed to just know you were there

to whisper sweet nothings that encompass my prayers

when my casket gets lowered and I’m alone in my thoughts

I want the depths of your eyes to be the last image I caught.