To Cure the Soul…

The blazing flame of passion burns the heart,
The cold despair of mourning chills the soul,
The icy pang of guilt burns like a coal,
And none escapes the blaze of Cupid’s dart.
Yet brilliant color soothes the spirit’s art,
And music is a refuge for the soul,
It seems the senses dull and yet console,
To soothe the pain, force memories apart.
Yet soon the senses too begin to smart,
As cooling water chills you to the bone,
And warming fire burns the icy stone,
All suffering refuses to depart.
This circle’s very climax is a groan,
The answer is a cross before a throne.
-Tyler William O’Neil
-August 19, 2009

IX Complexio Animantis

(The Creature's Dilemma)
I long to find the path of highest worth,
On which I may fulfill and be fulfilled,
To chance return the love which made my birth,
And match the will by which my life was willed.
Yet how can one repay so great a debt?
My very life itself was paid in full,
This very gift I find I must regret,
When duty is, my purpose, to fulfill.
For how is one to know why he was formed?
His conscience must direct his ev'ry step,
And if unto its path he's not conformed,
What justice can he do to pay his debt?
The sinner needs forgiveness to rebuild,
To rest in peace, and be in short, fulfilled.
-Vir Cogitans Americanus
Scribit Dies XXVIII Iunii, Anno Domini MMVII

The Voice Upon the Breeze

Upon this night, the clearest ever seen,
Upon the mist, unknown by senses keen,
A floating wind now passeth through the soul,
A waking breeze ignites a deadened coal,
A blazing soul hears mysteries untold,
As spirit burns anew, no longer cold!
A myriad of voices indistinct,
Still travels through the air, but somehow linked
To nature's purpose, our unending quest
To ere decipher better from the best.
This wisdom deep within the soul now wakes,
As spirits speak the ground within me shakes,
Such beauty ne're confined to speech so plain,
To utter meanings vast t'would be in vain!
The starlit moonlight ever shows its rays,
The cry of deepest sorrow ne're decays,
Yet on the silent curtain of the breeze
Lies wisest knowledge in between the trees.
The voice of him who traveled here and there,
The voice of all mankind upon the air,
Speaks in a tongue not known to modest Earth,
And still its meaning holds the utmost worth.
What bitter longings of the ages past,
Have echoed in your mind unto the last,
The farthest knowledge you can know, surpassed!
There lies the glory of what now is past!
For here, among our family and friends,
A longing of the past begins and ends,
For as the poet Homer sang the song,
I, with my pen, for beauty toil long.
And as Prince Hector longed for glory's peace,
Each man alive, does strive for honor sweet.
This now does melancholy claim as hers,
This spirit of the past, benign and curse,
For with the wisdom of the ages past
Does come sweet sorrow to the very last.
Alas, to feel the grief of those long gone,
Or listen to the dead's immortal song,
Does rise a pity sorrowful and true,
To think, this even may be said of you.
For as I read the Elegy's true words,
I feel ideas of old take flight as birds.
I, like to Grey, have reverence for the past,
And we must ever hope that this will last.
For when our words are sung in time afar,
To them we are as distant as that star.
To think, how will the airy voices sound,
When my soul joins them, rising from the ground?
To hear the whispers faint that I will bring,
It will, perhaps, incite a man to sing
And speak again of voices in the breeze,
Of mankind's voice in air among the trees.
-Jerusalemrising
-April 10, 2006

148 The Nature of Man

Oh mind, thou art a bastion for the truth,
O soul, thou art the metaphysic geist-
The corpse, not perfect, even in the youth,
Does ever wish, of virtue such, the heist!
The body knows it holdeth little gold,
A beauty, yes, but only to the eye,
And time destroys the beauty of the old,
The curse of man is ever that we die.
The mind and soul may yet be quite pristine-
And yet, when unfulfilled they are a void,
Their beauty lies in golden wisdom’s gleam,
On Earth their treasure cannot be destroyed!
And thus is man, he is of parts composed-
Philosopher and beast, in him exposed.
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O’Neil)
Written February 27, 2007

144 The Scourge of Time

A silent night digresses into dark,
The evening light portrays a shallow mist,
My ever-searching soul does now depart,
My longing to be whole is now dismissed.
I hear in darkened wood a quiet sound-
The ancient voices good entrance the soul,
They tell a tale of ancient time renowned,
And free a wail for desp’rate worldly woe!
The majesty of ancient songs agone,
The tapestry of man is incomplete.
Not only have we lost the early dawn,
But dusk of man, his last, we’ll never meet.
Alas the scourge of time attacks the soul-
A wish for deeper rhyme to yield the whole!
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O’Neil)
Written February 12, 2007

115 The Sweet Repose of Death

The vision of my corpse upon the sand,
The silent song of peace uplifted high,
The shout of captive freed beyond the land,
This shall be heard above the bluest sky!
It ever seems my destiny to flee,
To follow aft a passion false indeed,
Yet soon shall come a time of majesty,
When no temptation may remove the seed!
I flee and ere return to God the King,
A constant cycle shown in Judah’s past,
Yet soon the knell of wretched life will ring,
No need shall prompt return, at longest last!
Oh come, sweet death’s repose to free the soul!
I cannot wait ‘til spirit’s fin’ly whole!
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O’Neil)
Written December 11, 2006