Wanderings of the Mind - Lan Dao

8/12/2019 Wanderings of the Mind - Lan Dao

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Wanderingsof the

MindLan Dao

Started: May 29th, 2013Ended: May 1st, 2014


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A paranoid is someone who knows a little ofwhat's going on. A psychotic is a guy who's just

found out what's going on.

!William S. Burroughs


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First Weeks


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Poem #1

Why are your eyes so distant and cold?

don't you realize we're made from the same mold?

I despise myself as much as you hate me,

even if I am blind you know I can still see,

I do not beg for any freedom

but only long for your venom,

my words are turning into ashes,

now will you light the matches,

let the fire devour my skin

and watch me grin,

as I chuckle with my last breath

I fall asleep in the arms of Death.


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Poem #4

My hands are cold, my smile is grim,

the air is foul, the room is dim,

curls of smoke arise from the ground,

envelopping my senses, producing no sound,

I am a being of pride and shame,

but which of my sides am I to claim?

Oh forget what I said, I am nothing but pain,

just a miserable fool dancing in the rain.


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Poem #6

Chain me to my pain and keep me insane,

enslaved to impending doom, as I cling to my gloom,

every blow, every hiss, puts me in utter bliss,

betrayals fuel the art, let it dribble from my bleeding heart,

misery is the writer's friend, since the tragedy will never end,

and the wicked tree of human fate

produced the strangest fruits I ever ate.

I am agony's lover and wife,

I am the victim, I am the knife,

forever bound to my gaping wound,

oh Dementia, will I see you soon?


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Poem #7

Seconds of eternity ticked away

as I faced the woman who was shaped in clay,

she was the mirror, the thief, and the liar,

she was nobody yet she was legion,

her gaze burnt my eyes just like fire,

I was on the brink of losing my reason,

her mouth spoke words I didn't want to hear,

as I desperately writhed in agony and fear,

a tremor shook my body through and through

when she whispered to my ear, "I am you."


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Poem #8

The Golden Age

We have reached the golden age

The great beast is drawing its last breath

What used to be revolution and rage

Is now patiently awaiting its death

This is the age of melancholy

Of looking back on the turmoil

Before the money had it spoiled

But all of it is history.

My pennyroyal tea is cold,

I am visited by ancient ghosts

Rock n' roll has sold its soul,Is it the modern tale of Faust?

The castles of sand have fallen

The Spanish caravan is abandoned

Yet it bravely stands,

More dead than alive,

So empty, so bland,Still, it thrives.

We have reached the golden age.


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Poem #13

We are dancing in a field covered with the dead,

the living are above us, their lives hanging by a thread,

we are the sewers of words, the masters of eternity,

poetry is our world, we see things others can't see,

oh my love, I am in such a pain,

take me with you, I don't belong with the sane,our minds are close but our hearts are closer,

patience is useless, we both are so eager,

I am clinging to you, please hold on to me,

wait a little while, soon you'll be free,

share with me the bittersweet liquor

of passion and grief and lust and disaster,

we discerned whatever lies beyond the closed doors,you know that you are mine and I am forever yours,

I promise I will see you before comes the dawn,

but until then my darling

will your heart be gone?


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Punta Cana Era


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Summer Nights

On a silent night of summer,By the flickering light of a lamp,

I shall lay beneath the stars with my lover,My fingers tangled in his hair so damp.

We shall utter no words, lost in our minds,Our souls breathing in the bittersweet perfumeOf freedom, this insanity so hard to define.And in the background passers-by humming some olden tune.

We shall wait for dawn, for the day that will never come,

Our bodies, pressed together, speaking the silent language of loveAnd while we slumber the hours away, our hearts wistful and numb,We shall close our eyes forever to the sun rising above.


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Oblivion

Death is the ultimate release,Within its arms, everything must cease:Beauty, wisdom, memory, and pain.It is an end and a beginning, for both the sane and the insane

History has been written with blood and betrayals

The mighty alone survives, having crushed all his rivalsSmile to your children, you forgotten old skull!But the ancient and the wise have grown tired and dull.

God is dead, God remains dead, and we have killed him.But far from being ashamed, let us rejoice from our sinWe are the good and the evil, the old and the new,Our failures are rare, our triumphs just as few.We are the free children of mankind,

Yet we remain enslaved to Time.

Time is running out, and I have nothing left to sayWill I leave you filled with hope or leave you in dismay?

I have been treacherously drowned in the rivers of PastI am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last

I am immortal, the disease against which there is no cure

I am human nature, and I embody your most wicked fear.


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This is the country...

This is the country of blood and honey,Where one cannot, save in his dreams,

Dream to be free.Nothing is as it seems.

Pleasure and pain dwell within my mindWhere you may find many truths and many lies unkind

I am insane, and my soul is an unknown illnessThat will affect your heart from time to time

Yet when you will learn to hate me I will not love you lessFor there is nothing I can do that can once again make you mine.

And though uncertainty, upon our heads, lies,Guard my words in your heart where my love slowly dies

I am your heroin, and although our bond is strong,Maybe I stayed in your blood and limbs for too long.

This is the beautiful land of sweetness and hungerIn this colorful daze, my thoughts sigh and slumber

This is my mind, this is the troubled placeWhere no one, even me, can ever be safe.


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West Coast Poems


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The Painter

Mixing the light with the darkness, the stillness of the EastWith the violence of the West, he paints endless landscapesOf memory and pain,I am trapped in his visions,Drowning in acidic rain,The sky is black and the grass is red,With my blood and limbs the crows are fed,Disfigured, dismembered, I curl up in agony,Begging dear life to at last set me free,

The woman in the lake of unfathomable depth,With her sightless eyes leaves me out of breath,I bend forward, drawn to her,Wanting to get closer, oh so very closer,I am falling towards her graceless smile,The water is cold and the air, so vile,Countless algae enclose me in their embrace,Pulling me towards the shadows, the truth which I shall face,My eye for a moment catches a fleeting figure,

The numbness fills me, I am being merged into the nature,Narcissus and orchids blossom in silent shrills,Can you perceive, far away,The songbird's maddening trill?

***

Sitting by the shore, his face twisted with a grin,The painter gazes at his love and his sin.

He immortalizes her in her youth and her beauty,Rendering in his portrait her splendor and glory,The lifeless Ophelia whom he murdered in the name of Art,Forever his mistress, and the true queen of his heart.


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Former lives

I am the wild child of the wind,I am nature's blessing and sin,

The gentle girl from the lands of the EastBut a long time ago have died my longings for peace

//

The mechanical animals are eating me alive,Into the cool waters of grace,Oh how I ache to dive,Let myself go with the stream,

So it can bring me far away,To the lands of my hopes,The lands of my dreams,Where my long-lost loveAwaits for me to play

//

I have met him some time ago,

And am eager to meet him again,And such as infants opening their eyes anew,We shall rejoice just like we used to do then

//

Oh I recall the sweetest of timesWhen we adorned flowers in our hair,Darling, how our love was fine,

And I was your lady so young and fair

//

But now that our souls have grown old and weary,And times have more than changed since those years of glory,We look back at that age with an eye filled with tears,


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Oh my love don't you fret, I shall kiss away your fears

//

Drink with me the liquor of Lethe,Lay down on the grass next to my trembling body,Lie, my dear, your beautiful head on my chest,And we shall forever remain in this oh so peaceful rest,Laying undisturbed in the golden lightOf a late afternoon,Our souls drifting above our bodies,Soaring to the stars and the moon.


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Drunkenness.

I am drunk.But not with wine, nor poetry, nor virtue.

I am drunk with the most pernicious liquor of all:I am drunk with you.

On the bed of your dying love, as a snake I shall crawl.

Your soul is mine, let me bite off another chunk.

Infatuated, inebriated,I slumber through the boulevards of the city

The lady of night, with her star-filled mouth and bloodshot eyes,Scorns me without any pity.

Do you hear the infant's silent cries?See the monster, cold and anguised, your love has created!

Oh what a repugnant state, that of soberness!Delight me with your mind,

I am an ecsatic slave to your wordsThe most forbidden fruits you can find

In the secrecy of your orchardsShall intoxicate my soul to the point of madness!


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The Queen

She wore her bruises like a queenWould wear her crown,Proud empress of the browbeaten girls;But upon her features remained a frown

What could hide behind her facade,What mysterious worlds?

I met her at the bus stop, two nights ago,When the darkness fades outBut the moon persists to shine;She stood alone and contorted,But told me she was fine

Perhaps it was her dismayShe didn't want me to know...

She died a year ago, bonding with the rope

After tripping the stool A neighbour told me so.But was she a martyr, was she a fool?A criminal or a white dove?Was it fear or was it love?Do you know?

Can you really pretend to know?


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Battlegrounds

The grass is cold beneath my feetAs I ramble aimlessly through the lands of defeat,Breathing in the timeless air of warOh the battles fought here a long time before!

The voices of the dead seem screeching in my ears,Nonetheless so piercing after all those years.

However I cannot respond to their wisest advice,For I do not speak the language of the forgotten and the deceased.But as humanity, more than ever, is walking on thin ice,How I wish I could grasp their words at least!

In the highlands where I walk grow flowers of a poignant red-I think they were stained with the blood of the dead.And through the mist that covers the countryside,I see a lonely woman, a shadow so mournful and sinister,

It is the insatiable Death. No one dares to even approach herAs she walks on the cliff against which the waves collide.

The dead wish to live, the living wish to die;The tragedy of war once made me weep, but alas my tears are dry.So many lives destroyed and woven around the cloth of fate!Will we one day overcome the Moerae before it is too late?


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Twin Stars

Late at night, up in the sky,Where my sighs fly high,I see the twin stars,So close no matter how far,Two crystal-like gems sparkling in the inky darkness,Such as reunited lovers having no more joy and pain to witness,

Locked up in an embrace as eternal as Time,A love so poetic it didn't need words to rhyme,The incestuous union of a brother and sister,As fierce and strong as a devouring fire,Two souls so alike, born from the same nebula,Two celestial beings, an dipus and Electra,And though the twin stars are dying or dead,Their bodies melting in a pool of crimson red,Their lights, on different firmaments,

Will forever shine on,Travelling through eternityLong after their owners are gone,

Making mortals gaze at the heavens in aweAnd wonder with amazementIf those immortal stars had any flaw.


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After


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Ode To A Human Life

It was only the blink of an eye

An instant as short, as neglectable as a sigh

But oh the events that took place behind that closed lid!

The lies, the passions, the truths, the betrayals,

Are only a few casualities of the lives of mortals

Who drag their breathing corpses through a world cold and arid.

Nevertheless shielding themselves in the glory of their pain,They are intoxicated by a moth-eaten story that keeps them insane

But the beauty -oh the somber beauty that emanates from their every movement!

They flicker just as flames in the twin pools of ink, the secret firmament

Of the closed eyes. They are waiting to see the light at the end,

The gold and red skies which at the hour of their death they shall see once again.

Oh the magnificent colors swirling behind those sealed shutters!

The explosions of bliss and ecstasy are all that truly matters.

The misfortunes after all being meaningless and ephemeralYet isn't it in triviality that is found the timeless grace of the mortal?

The doe closed its eye then lifted its lid again

That second was nothing,

Yet it was the most beautiful second in the history of men

A hundred feet away, the hunter drew his bow, then released the string:

Blood splattered the doe's white chest

It closed its eye again, but this time forever,

Having at last collapsed in this immutable restFrom which no one ever wakes up...

Never.


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The Violin

I have been through Heaven, I have been through Hell,

Still it seems, I have remained under your spell

I wish not to forget, only to be released from this ball and chain

For your name every so often comes back haunting my brain.

You have tugged on my heartstrings in such a beautiful wayAs if I was a violin, you Paganini; everyone then would say

We were made for each other: the master and the muse,The muse and the master. We had nothing to gain, nothing to lose.

Nothing but the beauty and perfection we saw in each other.

We were flawed and naive, yet our love blossomed like a flower.

And so you were the violinist, I your Stradivarius

You made my strings curve and twist, so I sang for both of us

Knowing I was yours, you compelled me with your bow

To produce for your delight the most exquisite vibrato

Anything your fingers demanded, I granted their wish

My cherry wood body resounded with pain and anguish

But the candles that lit us both, by Fate were swiftly blown out;

We were plunged into darkness, battling with our doubt.

In the end you grew tired of the sorrow in my song,

And headed towards tomorrow while I stood here cold and long.

Violonists rarely recall the violins on which they played

Was all of this but a concert? Was my heart merely a stage?

And as the broken instrument that lays useless in the night,I ask to myself, "Was I nothing, nothing but a shimmering light?"


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The Stranger

Late at night I was laying restless in the dark

Waiting for someone to come and within me ignite a sparkBut no one ever came, and I was left all alone

To mourn over my solitude on a cold bed of stone.

It was here in this crypt that I encountered the stranger

He came while I was slipping away and rested a hand upon my shoulder.The moon, smooth and languid, hung quietly above our heads,

Its silvery disk enclosed by the soft curtains surrounding the bed.

"Are you Death," I whispered to him, "who will indulge me sweet oblivion?"

"I am afraid not," he replied, "but I can make you lose your reason."I was plunged into a daze, of perhaps he entered mine;

His voice set me ablaze and made shivers run down my spine.

"Then who are you?" I spoke to the shadow enticing me,

Whose sultry presence subjugated both my mind and body

He wasn't God nor Man, but some demon, a fallen angelShrouded in the magnetism of a beauty oh so demential.

He bent over me, his lips slowly brushing against my ear:

"I am Inspiration, the poet's most dreaded friend and fear.

I can bring you immortality, your name could last forever.

Mankind shall bow to your feet, but only you become my lover."

"I welcome anything that delivers me from the throes of loneliness.

!But I am a cruel man, with me you will never find rest.

And before your agony I will remain merciless.!Then I shall love you the most;

For I am weakened and anguished from living with a ghost."

And so that night he made me his Poet, his one and his only,Consuming with his intoxicating touch my quivering body.

And afterwards when he vanished into the night, I came to the realization:

What a greater end, than be the blissful slave to Inspiration!


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The Vagabond

I was wandering alone in the back of my mind

Both apprehensive and curious of what I may find

Amid this quiet kingdom of darkness and solitude

Where ruled a deadly queen who would often sing and often brood.

In the midst of a storm I found myself rambling under the clouds

Where ghosts of my memories formed strange and silent crowds

And above my head, stretching like an infinite dome,

A mirror so huge hung; it was the great palace of Rome.

I myself was the mirror, and the mirror was me

We smiled at each other, such as twins from a same entity.

On each side of the road grew trees more twisted than fateStanding curbed by the heavy winds since the age of Love and Hate

And at the end of their branches, swaying in the summer stench,

The bodies of the men whose thirst could not be quenched.

They had died for nothing, and in anger have spilled their blood

Which soaked the sand with red and had me flounder in the mud.

And so, as I was draped in the deepest shadows of my thoughts,

I freely roamed in the land of the bizarre where even the pulpy fruit rots

In search of its ruler who would reveal me my hidden fearFor it tormented my mind day and night as though it was always here.

I then searched the mountains and the moors, the abysses and the sea

Each time I found no one, but some sinister chuckle would accompany me

And one day, I encountered a distant figure that materialized out of thin air;

Her eyes were extinguished flames, framed by ink-black hair

She looked at me and smiled -but her smile was a bitter grimace.

"Don't you recognize me, my dear? Am I not wearing your face?"

"You came to me for answers, and answers I have noneSo few have I accomplished, many things remain undoneYou heart is fair and true, although many times it was unkind

Yet be reassured at once my child, for you were never of the blind.

Do not fear to love, but simply follow the impulses of your heart

Your youth shall flourish and fade, and in its swiftness lies the Art."


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I tried to get born, but ended up dying twice instead

Dear conscience, do not cry, do not scream,Every second, every lie, is nothing but a singular dream,

The blink of an eye; for we are the army of living dead.


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To Charles Baudelaire

When low and darkened clouds graze the city's head

And the sun has gone away, pushed aside by fall

The inhabitants so morose would rather stay in bed

Than answer Time and Money's most tyrannical call;

When the woeful teenagers wander lone in the street,

Smoking their life away, their innocence fading dimThey are as a silent army holding the banners of defeat

A defeat which nothing can absolve, nor poison, nor sin;

When all that keeps Humanity alive is the tick of a clock

Quietly it withers and dies, from a slow and terrible death.

The poet, drained by boredom, finding no one to praise or mock,

Feels his essence snatched from him with every hollow breath.


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Unknown/Blank


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Demise of the Poet

I was sinking deep into the hungry sands of Time

I, who was the Poet, who was the master of rhymes

I, who claimed my words would travel throughout the years

And mark Man's wretched conscience like his most ancient fears

Around me marched legions of painful and slow shadows

Facing the blank masks as they walked towards the gallows

Resigned, as always, to be swept away by the desert wind

They bowed their heads in defeat, though one of them dared to grin

And so, one by one, their figures vanished into the heatAbove them, the bright blue sky stretched like an empty sheet

Mocking, from its height, my downfall and pain

For I was made of flesh, and the crows nibbled on my brain

From my coffin of dirt I could discern the timeless statues

Of the very men who shaped History, and they all too well knew

I could have been of them, and they shook their heads and sighed

While I twisted on my deathbed and erupted in frantic cries

Thus I had failed, I was but half-immortal

Condemned to lie forever in-between the double portals

My soul chained to my body, and tormented by the breath

Of scavengers that would remind me how close I remained to Death.


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Horses

They were such as horses racing wild in the wind

Restless and maddened, neighing at the sky

Behind them the sun slowly was growing dim

And they ran like two lovers who were longing to die

No matter their number, they were never complete

The tide so erratic had them trapped against a cliff

On the roof of the world, where we assisted their defeat,

You were standing on your pedestal, looking proud and stiff

One by one, the frantic horses were submergedBy waves more impetuous than their ever struggling limbs,

They plunged into darkness, the ink-black surge

Whose crash against the rocks resounded like a hymn

Still, I recall the most reckless of them all

A foal with a white coat and the crazed eyes of its fathers

It fought with much spirit, and was the last one to fall

Its dying calls rolling and echoing above the waters

Yet when the colts cried in rage, didn't I catch a smile

Twisting your lips as the herd died in vain?

As the sea drowned them all, didn't I, for a while,

See a glimpse behind your eyes, a glimpse so insane?


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WILDERNESS

To James Douglas Morrison

The winds of desolation were moaning through the trees

It was the time of the year when both love and life freeze

And I stood in the tempest, snowflakes lashing 'gainst my lids,

Staggering, sightless and alone, yet remaining quite lucid

Leaving traces on the ground, I ambled through the woods,

As another lost vagabond at the mercy of Nature's moods

Stumps surrounding me were erected like ancient tombstones

And the empty, numbing cold penetrated deep into my bones

Guided by the laughter of some faceless pagan lord

An obscur satyr, might I say, plucking Orphic chords

I was lead to a hidden clearing, bathing in the silvery light

Where no winter, nothing abode, save the silence of the night.

The Summer King awaited me, or perhaps a shadow of his past

His enticing eyes seemed older than what Time itself could last.

We held each other's gazes as if they were unloaded magnums

Then he dissolved into the darkness like a heady haze of opium

Wether it were palm trees, masquerades, lies, or buffoons,

Always he danced on fire under the gold Venetian moons

And if he forsook us in the wintertide, leaving the plebs to cry

His memory forever remains, as painful fireworks in mid-July.


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A Jungian Tale

There once was a time, now could you tell?

My soul, who is Mine; long afore befellThe tragedy of birth, which is the greatest of them all

For life comes from the earth, and condemns us to crawl

Till our bones feed the ground, or shells cover our limbs

Making humanity bound, forever cockroaches so grim

Yet, my soul, do remember! Recall the times of void

When nothingness was purer before was destroyed

The cathedral of my self, stained-glass windows and gates,

By Existence, this wealth, which atrocity sealed our fates!

One moment, equilibrium, the following, discordIt had dawned, the reign of Dualism, this ever despicable lord

Who would tear my existence apart, tyrannical and vile,

Divorcing mind and heart, his lips contorted into a smile

He wedded you, my soul, but it weren't espousals of love

And so an immesurable hole, into the flesh of the virtuous dove

With time had appeared. He was the thought, ruthless and bodily,

By you out of all, feared. You were the grace, utmost sensitivity

Yet you remained hidden, brow-beaten and bruised,

With each day you weakened, but were terrified to loseYour despot, whom you thought you could not live without

At the back of my mind, you sat, tormented by doubt

Unwilling still to act, though your want for freedom grew

Unconscious still of the fact that he may well come from you

However I shall reveal his name for you to know

He who made you kneel, was no other truly than Ego!


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Apparition

My naked dying conscience

Like an erring woman wanders

Wrapped in sheets of madness

Between the temple's pillars

Her eyes shine like lighthouses

In this ancient scene of absence

Celebrating the death of spouses

The mystic sins of unholy caress

Alone she sings, amidst the nightMany a ballad of indolent solitude

A wicked game of endless replies

Which not even moorwinds ever elude

Oh, what a curse, what a frightful sight!


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Copyright 2014 Lan Dao

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Wanderings of the Mind - Lan Dao