I feel that I was meant for something more;
My curse, this awful power to unmake.
And ever since you found your taste for war,
You’ve forced me onto those whose lives you’d take.
While Guernica in peaceful valley lay,
And Dresden dreamed of anything but death,
The day was turned to night, and night to day;
You let me loose upon their fragile flesh.
And so I hid among the smallest things;
You found me there and ferried me above.
The flame deluge is waiting in the wings;
The smallest thread holds back the second flood.
And who will stand to greet the blinding light;
It’s lonely when there’s no one left to fight.
“Kings Upon the Main”
This lesson you’d do well not to forget.
Your life could be the one it’s wisdom saves,
At sea, when you’re beleaguered and beset,
On every side by strife of wind and waves.
Despite the best of maps and bravest men,
For all their mighty names and massive forms,
There’ll never be and there has never been
A ship or fleet secure against the storms.
When kings upon the main have clung to pride,
And held themselves as masters of the sea,
I’ve held the down beneath the crushing tide
Till they have learned that no one masters me.
But grace can still be found within the gale;
With fear and reverence, raise your ragged sail.
From tender years you took me for granted.
But still I deigned to wander through your lungs.
While you were sleeping soundly in your bed,
(Your drapes were silver wings, your shutters flung)
I drew the poison from the summer’s sting,
And eased the fire out of your fevered skin.
I moved in you and stirred your soul to sing;
And if you’d let me I would move again.
I’ve danced ‘tween sunlit strands of lover’s hair;
Helped form the final words before your death,
I’ve pitied you and plied your sails with air;
Gave blessing when you rose upon my breath.
And after all of this I am amazed,
That I am cursed far more than I am praised.
“Child of Dust”
Dear prodigal, you are my son and I
Supplied you not your spirit, but your shape.
All Eden’s wealth arrayed before your eyes;
I fathomed not you wanted to escape.
And though I only ever gave you love,
Like every child you’ve chosen to rebel.
Uprooted flow’rs and filled the holes with blood;
Ask not for whom they tool, the solemn bells.
A child of dust, to mother now return;
For every seed must die before it grows.
And though above the world may toil and turn,
No prying spade will find you here below.
No safe beneath their wisdom and their feet,
Here I will teach you truly how to sleep.
-Written by Dustin Kensrue from Alchemy Index Vols. I-IV