After a big banquet sleep a while, as Elysium awaits in bliss ~ yet not too long and let not the frivolities of last night’s revelry spill over into the morning. For wicked weeds grow fastest in the day. In times of plenty, do not forget tomorrow. Laurence Fuller’s SuperRare Genesis.
Poetry & AI Animation & Music & Produced & Performed by Laurence Fuller
@LaurenceFuller
www.laurencefuller.art
ELYSIUM AWAITS IN BLISS
My Uncle was an antique dealer ~ on the edge of Paradise,
And that’s where he lived for his whole life.
A workshop filled with mechanisms,
Not art, nor science, nor religion, nor the learned scholars from the palace, could make of library ~ what he made from a single restoration.
A table full of pickled creatures,
Cupboard of ancient elixirs,
Collectors from the far corners of Paradise,
Lined up to see what was the latest from the alchemy of his study.
On the morning of 17th Birthday,
Arrived the strangest parcel,
Never seen anything like it,
Not even from the basement of an ancient castle.
My Uncle unwrapped it with the greatest care;
“Now this you must never tell”
It seemed as if it was a painting,
And yet it lived and moved, and swirled.
Creating itself, again and again and destroying and beginning every second anew.
The Masterpiece lived before our eyes,
In the infinite pleasures of Paradise.
My Uncle turned to me and said;
“This was painted by the lord of the fauns.
There are my boy the darkest secrets,
That he would destroy all of Paradise,
To keep in its’ shadows”
From then on, everywhere it went, I followed.
Yearning to know its’ secrets.
And in the earliest hours of dust and sunlight ~ The Masterpiece came to life.
It’s glimmer down the halls,
Woke me as the light bounced off the walls.
In that cold night, my breathe a-steam,
My pre-occupation with the pleasures of my dreams.
Dissipated, by what I now see.
Passing through a landscape,
The painting now spoke to me.
My heart was beating out my chest.
Unto this last ~ the canvas stretched,
Gothic bells that could be heard,
Between the sweet sounds,
Of exotic birds.
The gardens of the most vibrant vines,
The pride of all of Paradise,
The Palace where the King resides.
The gardens stretch for miles,
The petals of every iris fell,
Once bloomed in righteous hues.
Between two statues; the entrance to the Palace.
A King beloved by the people,
Was sheltered by the shadows of a crumbling steeple.
“Paradise Reigns,
Ecstasy for endless days,
Rapture all our life,
For the burning rose,
We will sacrifice.
Paradise Reigns,
Ecstasy for endless days,
Rapture all our life,
For the burning rose,
We will sacrifice.”
And yet seeping up the creek,
The God of Pleasure had already taken his seat.
His wicked calls, echoes down the halls.
Dominion over the Kingdom,
As pleasure dripped from the statues, chandeliers and candlesticks.
The riverbanks were choked with weeds and brambles, their tangled roots reaching out like grasping claws to ensnare.
Sirens dripping wet with barnacles in their hair.
Deviance in a house of lust,
Temple of sin,
For the fallen King.
Debaucherous trance encompassed the people,
Caught in the grips of an avalanche,
Of power of madness,
Hysteria in a blaze of pleasure,
Gripped by the euphoria of devotion,
To his Royal gaze.
Worship the ineffable days of endless glory ~ Paradise Reigns.
As he walks in the temple it shines with the light of the burning rose.
The very air parts way to the divine.
This is our hero,
The flame that never dies,
A covenant of courage divine.
Overlook the God of Pleasure’s revenge?
Here’s of course, where it ends.
Fall to one’s own carnal fantasies,
Where the seeds of war did flourish by the conquerer’s dreams.
Sleeping while the wicked wind like weeds around the palace and all it sees.
Plant the seeds of sin,
And watch the corruption settle in.
The riverbanks were choked with weeds and brambles.
They’re tangled roots reaching out like grasping claws to ensnare.
Sirens dripping wet with barnacles in their hair.
Catfish darted from rotting wood to shelter.
Flowed through that black vein of the city.
Where the King had wandered and made his bed among the miscreant and wayward.
A cavern of shadows,
Now the parlor of a once great King,
Laying in the muck.
Surrounded by waste,
Slime and maggots consume the leavings in his haste.
Discarded piles of pork,
Rotting fruit, sour wine,
Scavengers feeding off the remnants of life.
This is where Paradise came to die.
The Temple’s shine was overrun,
And the worshipers bled an unholy sum.
The heavens dropped and darkness clawed like moss.
Overrun with rot,
Blistered in the heart of the Palace, like a blood clot.
Wails and cries of their calamity;
ALL IS LOST!
The sky was full and grey,
The clouds heavy, with the promise of rain.
Existing in a turgid state.
The King looked up at the skies;
“What has happened to Paradise?!”
ALL IS LOST!
As I look out, over the glowing mist,
A legion of heroes raise their fists,
Chants to the fallen sun,
Elysium awaits in bliss.
~ Laurence Fuller, 2023
