by Michael Plante

My suffering redefined my perception;
once the pain had stopped
the heart that longed for love and acceptance
was caressed by the hands of compassion.
My tormented mind and body sense easement;
tears of relief overcame my strife.
The healing had begun.

So I take you into my story
of how my perception of love was destroyed
and how my disrespect for women was instrumental in my downfall.
For it wasn’t a woman that severed loves’ connection
as it may be a mother or a sister, a teacher, or an aunt.
It was the lack of a father that drew strange men to our table
those with ill intentions.

The fallen angel known as Moloch
disguised as man and hungry as the devil
arrived to feed like a vampire in the darkness.
The impressionable child with eyes of fire
watched as Moloch placed the crown of deception upon his brow
and took his seat at our table.
He would slit your throat if left alone
or guide you to a new religion on Sunday morning.

In every home a church is formed
either the religion of love or the religion of violence is established
testaments of compassion or neglect shall be taught
to young impressionable minds
who are seeking their place in history.
When neglect seeped into our family
it was the church of violence the prevailed.

Mothers are angels only to be touched by God’s grace
never by the violent hand of man.
For destroying the soul of a vessel that carries a precious cargo
is self-defeating and ill-advised;
it brings forth the wrath of God
and the dejection of humanity.

Within our church blood is the holy water
violence is the body of Christ;
the sermon delivered nightly
as the father that abandoned us
consumed our dreams in drunken merriment.

Any family unified by blood
will either die or be solidify.
Time is a contributing factor
pressure is another.
When the last supper was served
the blood of God was splattered across the painted walls of our church.
Angels of the watch arrived at the front door;
Moloch was handcuffed and carried out into the night
and somewhere in the nightmare of a child
God died.

A child that plays with the darkness
shall learn to thrive in the darkness;
and by the light of a new day
the eyes of fire that fed the devil
became the devil himself.

The human condition is a storm brewing off the coastline;
hunger fills the air; a slow ache develops in the belly;
the mind asks for more of what is no longer available;
demands it.
Contrite is skewered like a lamb
and discarded for human contention.
The hands of violence developed from the darkness
wash away the blood of lavish desires.
In the wake of my storm
I wear the crown
I am the king.

The haunting image of Moloch is burned into my mind
his blood stains my memory.
He has taken my innocence
in exchange for reality
for true this world we live in
is as violent as the storm that crashes upon the shoreline.
The lessons parents do not teach us
are learned on the vile streets of the city;
in dark alleyways and dead-end streets
where prostitutes and parasites suck the life from you
leaving you like discarded litter.

My elixir was amber ale
the fuel of dreamers and fools
that play in the darkness of the night.
Painful memories and broken knuckles
are numbed before the break of day
glossy eyes wish the moon good night
before falling to the carpet in a hole so deep
nothing would be able to reach it.
The best dreams are the ones I never had
nothing exists in a void
and that is where I rested.

The appealing beauty shall be touched
by a tainted mind and hands of destruction.
I could draw the best of this world to my fingertips
hold them transfixed like an audience at the circus
who await the fall of the tightrope walker
and pretend to be relieved when he doesn’t fall.
We all have the taste of blood in our mouths
and desire more when darkness arrives.
I tempted you and you came back for more
my intentions were not to love
but to rule the hearts of weak minds
that unknowingly plead for Moloch’s arrival.

You wanted pleasures of the heart
and desires of the body
to be fulfilled by a prince
instead the demon that steals dreams
took your innocence and devoured those dreams
then cast your memories aside
laughing like a hyena all the way to the next void
waiting for the moon to wake the dreamers and fools.

Hope is a tool of the lonely
and those in despair
yet for a child raised in darkness
its mechanism to be abused.
Taunting the weak to their knees
watching them plead for resolve
from the living nightmare they’ve awoken in
how delicious it is to see Moloch’s pain upon the faces
of lovers and dreamers.

It was God who designed the devil’s playground
so I shall never deny the devil’s existence.
The image of the man of many names sat next to me
in the darkness he asked if I was ready to come home
the light would be coming soon and he needed an answer.
“You’ve played enough in my playground,” he said.

Was it my crown that became tarnished,
did my appeal fade,
or maybe I’ve became tired of trivial matters;
somewhere in the darkness where I rested
the memory of Moloch being dragged away
by angels of the watch
stirred a question never pondered before.
Why should I be the bearer of his pain?

As good as a tightrope walker is, he too shall fall to his death
fulfilling the audience’s desire for blood.
I’ve walked a fine line
the satisfaction of my audience arrived.
In the darkness the man of many names shackled me to my past
for I denied his request to come home.
The bolder of pain and misery was now a part of me
forever chained to a scared body and mind;
it’s weight immense and crushing.
I’ve become a king in slave’s clothing
I begged for the remorse of God who I forgotten.

I saw admiration in the eyes of the man with many names
for as he desired my soul
my pain and misery are worth more to him.
He thrived and relished in his delight
gleefully dancing.

The dawn broke a new day
I dragged that boulder from the darkness to the light
the shackle cut deep and to the bone.
Shame and remorse weighs heavy on a soul
both can diminish the light of the spirit within
yet nothing exists without reason.
Divine intervention gives birth to purpose
a moment of clarity bursts open the seed of a new perception
and a spiritual awakening springs forward new life.

From pain and misery I created something new
for resolve is a chisel and determination the hammer
in which I carved a new existence from that bolder.
The image of a woman appeared
a symbolism of strength and love never experienced before
the cloth of atonement polished the image
bringing true its beauty and admiration.
The man of many names that shackled me to my past
had helped me to create a future
and in this new house the religion of love flourishes
truth and honesty is the holy-water sustaining that love.

Moloch no longer lives
for the shame and remorse of such memories
shall never again reign over a soul at peace
or distort the eyes of a heart that holds its truth.

Tomorrow I shall rise with the woman who holds my heart
together we shall carry our love into this world.
The religion we believe strengthens our bond
and offers those that suffer
light within their darkness.