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Déchiqueté

Mills

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This wasted soul feels like thin water on a glassy plane, spilling

outwards and losing cohesion. With each centimetre I lose those precious barriers which held my true self together. Anything could

happen now, and yet there is a guiding force which even I cannot

understand, just beyond my senses, quietly rearranging thoughts

into something else.

My newly split soul. This tripartite mockery of the holy spirit,

mirrored perfectly in this frail human body. I have no time for religion. How can this have happened to me? The Martyr, the Wolf 

and the Philosopher hang uneasily together like children playing in

graveyards. A delicate balancing act which only the Philosopher 

can truly comprehend. The Martyr cares not, and never will, and

the Wolf will brook no compromise.

There is no dialogue between the latter twins; one wails, the other snaps. One holds close, the other runs free. One remembers the

 past, the other: eternal present. Snap-snap. The Martyr cowers

away, peering into the bright eyes of the Wolf and seeing tenacity,

instinct and strength.

Can the Philosopher balance the two? They cannot both exist. One

will murder the other as Cain murdered Abel. The Martyr, inhatred; The Wolf in grim determination. Even as I type I can hear 

the low growl deep in my soul. I cannot look away from its eyes

any more than I can stop breathing.

It knows.

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The Wolf

in silence I walk,

 pack-less, I stalk,

a lone wolf in life.

full of dark pride,

whilst the martyr he cries

I bare my teeth wide.

the moment is all,

and never more wasted:

this means war.

war with immortals.a fight to the death

with hot blood pumping.

feel the fire

rise in my chest,

watch my head

droop low,

a warning.

dignity shall survive.

the goddess is gone

 but the wolf is alive.

a wolf named jagged.

a creature of pain,

the pragmatic killer.

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 The Martyr

wrapped in a web,

to stop the world aching,

my bones become hollow;

the core is well hidden.

a core full of love,

no space for my ego;

all fed to the fire,

no subsystem spared.

 protection is utmost.

I burn and I weep,these walls are like diamond,

impossibly deep,

and the wolf at the gate

keeping pace, never failing.

he says he's my friend,

 but his eyes so uncaring.

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© Mill

 jagged by name, and

 jagged by nature:

my glittering walls

and sharp claws on the creature.

 brothers are we,

looking forward and back,

assessing for weakness

until we attack.

another looks on

in pity and with intrigue,

this dark struggle, mirrored

in time wearied eyes.

I will not be breached.

I will not surrender.

go away wolf,

remove thy black temper.

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The Philosopher

together we stand:

spirit, mind, heart.

fragmented to ruin

and destined to part,

they must reconcile.

They cant surely both win.

such battles, and goresuch pain at the fore,

I try to inject

some wisdom, some lore.

in the end I just balance;

I help them both up,

dust them both down,

and look on and frown.

whoever wins, wins.

I really don't care;

 just want to be somewhere,

that isn't nowhere.