in the mirror held
frog’s silvered reflection – still
in the otherworld
.
surrounded by waves
pondering – so profoundly
even the mud hears
.
soundly – frog stamps
on ripples – the universe
his seal of fate
in the mirror held
frog’s silvered reflection – still
in the otherworld
.
surrounded by waves
pondering – so profoundly
even the mud hears
.
soundly – frog stamps
on ripples – the universe
his seal of fate
.
walking cobbled streets
grown from Templar’s founding – now
echo with their ghosts
.
ancient towns standing
testament to existence
buildings as headstones
.
which ones shall we slay –
will god recognise his own
let his will be done
.
is not mother church
a place of refuge – so lies
each genderless body
.
even now decay
models durability –
our impermanence
.
Now a modern city of ~ 75,000 people, the Massacre of Beziers took place in Languedoc, France, in 1209 A.D. The city was sacked by crusades against the ‘heretic’ Cathars and accounts suggest up to 20,000 were put to the sword.
Churches were broken open and those that had sought refuge were slain – up to 7,000 in the Church of St. Magdalene. The crusaders did not respect the supposed inviolable sanctity of church ground.
It is alleged that when asked how to recognise the heretics from the townsfolk, the Abbot replied ‘kill them all – god will recognise his own’.
Rather than God and Satan, Cathars considered that perhaps there were two gods – one good, one bad. The papal church viewed this as Satanism. The Cathars viewed the humans as the encapsulated souls of genderless angels. Perhaps they were right for the subject of sex returns to plague the modern day Church.
We shall never know their true beliefs as Catharism was destroyed along with most of its relics and works and their religion likely forms the root of the word ‘catharsis’ – to discharge pent-up emotions, probably from the torture that was used to encourage the betrayal of friends and family, a lack of zeal for which was considered to be a lack of commitment for the One True Church – or to expunge a problem.
.
oh – don’t miss a beat
my heart of glass – fragile!
encapsulated
.
plants remaining still
while all about lay strewn
fallen petals – shards
.
oh sky overhead –
where is heaven for flowers
seven colours meld
.
falling from the sky
rinsing spectra from the clouds
to lie upon snow
.
snowflakes upon snow –
trails I once walked – blanketed
run-ways to the stars
.
oh how I now must face my fears
drying my eyes away where cold-shed tears
evaporate away to powder – salt
the only trace that’s left of fault
yet it is not true that I don’t regret
but quite what I should do – I forget
and my tears do not belie I’m sad
instead that once my heart was glad
I lived a life that was full of vigour
why I should be sad I just don’t figure
but now comes the part in this fine race
where my heart must live without its trace
nine-lives the cat but perhaps its true
that I had more, but more ran through
perhaps my last one ends just here
perhaps already by my fear
without regret could I live instead
in a world of poetry going round my head
perhaps I could return again
one more time to lift the rhyming pen