The Necromancer

My songs probably brought you here… but I also like to write poetry in various other forms.  And prose.  I hope to tackle a screenplay or novel one day.  But for now, I’ll stick with the unrestricted form.

This is a free write I actually wrote YEARS ago… about five or six.  Going through old material, I came upon it again and I found it more relevant to me know then when I first wrote it.  At that time, it seemed abstract, fantastical- in an alternate dimension.  But now, it’s very real- a parallel dimension, turning inward, perpendicular, colliding and intersecting.  The words hit me hard, they gripped me, they squeezed the lungs and punched the gut and nipped at the heart strings.  What was once subconscious had grown into the conscience.  Although it can be alarming when things reveal themselves this way, at least it means we’re growing- evolving, fine tuning, becoming ever more self aware, and aware of others.  You may very well read the passage, and not understand ANY of this babble I’m making.  It can perfectly remain abstract to you.  So my goal in introducing it to you like this, is not to impose on you any sort of meaning or perspective for yourself.  I just want to share with you a little bit of history, and my own personal relationship with it.  Take what you will.  The words are here to share with you now….

THE NECROMANCER

The necromancer looks down at the people, knows things they never knew and will never know.
With his blind eye, he sees them- and screams, “None of you have the faintest clue.” He says,
“What’s in store for you will send you bleeding- like a pack of rats you feed and then you’re
fleeting.  And none of you even care to listen.”  Indeed- no one even ever hears him.
They only care about the faceglasses on sale off of Third Street.  The glasses that cover your eyes, and cover your cheeks, and weigh on your nose so you can barely breathe.   So these faceglasses are all they (hear)
and all they do see.
One of them, a lady in a sundress, wears a pair of faceglasses herself. But
she’s looking for more- you can never have too many.
She walks by the necromancer to see what’s in plenty.
And he sarcastically sneers, “Why, of course, help yourself.”  And he tells her,
“Your fate will leave you bleeding. You’ll never have a dime of dimension.”/ But… what about a
penny?- This little girl with sun for hair appears from underneath her mother’s feet. She swears
she’s heard, she swears she’s sure of the necromancer talking in his sleep. With having no one
heard, no one listening to her- she pulls at the necromancer’s sleeve./ And tells him… “I see what
you see.- But my mother is sometimes worth a mommy.
In spite of her faults, the false one here is you.
You’re plaguing people who haven’t got a clue.
You leave no fortune, no future, no chance for recompense, sir.
And so, you see, you are the necromancee, and I the necromancer.”