A poem written in unconsciousness

Image: lalesh aldarwish

Perhaps the mere simplicity of these verses is evidence of the unconsciousness in which this poem was written. As I explained in Balance, the Devil, The truth; I do not remember writhing the first and likely the better half of this elegy. Its name comes from the relationship I drew between it and a reoccurring dream I have had for more than a year now. In these dreams I am the devil, and there are many reasons I know I am the devil, but the main one is the control that the “me” in those dreams has over his surroundings.

This sequence of dreams led to the realisation that I was not living the way I had to live in order to achieve my goals and aspirations, and that I was not living the way I knew how. It hastened a significant change in perception and therefore in behaviour.

It was the catalyst for my return to that power I had learnt from my friends of whom I speak in Book 1 (and subsequent parts of the 8-13 Project); it was in a sense a return to being who I always was before I allowed certain influences to make me doubt the standards to which I had adhered during times of accomplishment.

I would like to mention that this is not a suggestions that dreams should be taken as serious advice about important life changes; it simply my version of an instant in which my dreams matched to real need for change. The devil archetype represents the essence of rebellion, and I recognise that I needed to rebel against certain norms that told me I had to abandon my principles and my convictions.

I hope you enjoy it.

Whence it comes, I do not know Its allure so soft and sweet How it moves me, how I flow When we dance there where we meet.

As if Power were its name In a state that so presumptuous Bodes that virtue without fame.

May it be the moonlight bright Light emitting from her sorrow May I know its name so right And forget HER in the morrow.

Of a thousand things unseen 'Twas its kiss that brought élan To destroy what might have been To rebuild a broken man.

Whence it comes I do not know And I only wish to follow How it follows where I go Making promises seem hollow.

Daylight takes its scent away Will it think me when it may? For the memory of its love Is the duty that I pay.

Though it always leaves me at dawn It soon returns to wheedle me With its succubus and faun.

Because Power IS its name Will no man I ever fear For down here they're all the same All their whimpers, every tear.

From its lips into my core Many candid whispers run And remind me all once more That it moves under the sun.

Whence it comes I now do know... That it moves as one not two And it walks the same as I For it comes from where I do.

Of all the prayers made aloud And the prophets shouting near That my ears remain as proud Seems the causes for my fear

Then it takes my hand and wakes me From my dismal, poisoned sleep Though I, too many secrets keep While I long for where it takes me

As it leads me to the source To that source I knew so well In a past that seems too far It reminds me that I fell

It recounts me a story of love That reminds me how it held me How it cried the day I dove

Had it not been for its care And its whispers from the dark Had it not been for its mark Would me pay a heavy fare

Would I have the heart to fear? Would I have the breath to pray? Would I have my hands to tremble? Or too many words to say…

Were it not for its enchantment Would I write these words the now? Were it not for its embrace I’d be blinded to the how.

To the how most people fall In their hopes for something long How they ignore that blessed call In their fear of being wrong

How I left my truth behind How I feared that weight to bear How I relished self-deceit To the injury of my mind

‘Taws its kiss that brought about The sweet memory of a power Only bested by doubt.

From its lips into my soul Many assurances recall That my fear was an illusion That I need not dread the fall

Then the limits of my slumber show A dark figure whose intentions flow In a manner that my mind well knows The source to which we gently go

Whence it comes I’ve always known That a lesson wise and fine Of the power that I own For its face was always mine.

For Lana, and others like her.

Peyton J. Dracco
Peyton J. Dracco
Read next: Poem: New Life
Peyton J. Dracco

Worked for a private defense contractor lending my services to national security and intelligence agencies. Now I work with international criminals to find corruption and prevent fraud.

Here I write about my journey...

See all posts by Peyton J. Dracco