On and on ten thousand heroes sing “I have no face but yours”  

While mice and men draw swords of sticks to score the victory mask of war

Shall we toast to deity, taste divinity, and deify ourselves

Or seek God’s face in mirth and mire, wielding a fountain pen baptized–

In the Brook of Kells?

And there was evening, Narcissus came, bearing divine beauty

Drooling over flesh and blood, he swore an oath of humble fealty

To His mirror, his master, his precious love and marbled stature

“Who’s there?” Echoed God, who knew the heart of man.

“The hero,” cried he, idol of nature.

And there was evening, Achilles came, to trample Troy and King

His spear eclipsed fell trojan sun, the Achaean bore chariot wings

A man of renown, an unrelenting hound, centaur-ion noble raised

Vengeance turned the hero’s face, Apollo strummed and now he lays–

Wholly submerged in Styx.

And there was morning, on the third day, when Living Waters rose

A temple flooding and bursting as the crystal fountain overflows

The Hero of Men, Lord of wellspring kin, thrust open reservoirs of new life 

Streams of faces trickle ’long Heaven’s beard,

Ten thousand stories proclaiming, “Drink, draw near!”

I remember

lying there

in the grass

Blood pulsing

with poison

thinking

Death must be

better than this

so I

Let myself fall asleep.

I awoke

unswallowed

still intact

Regurgitated

by the dark

pit of night

Shaking, cold,

with barely

even

The slightest pulse.

Sombre stars

watched above

mourning my

Stumbling for

scrambling toward

the door with

Limbs of flesh

shivering

in pain

But still moving.

I found my

friends hidden

somewhere still

In that house

of horrors

alarmed as

My zombified

eyes saw them

reaching

My heartbeat was weak.

Let’s just call

9-1-9

But I said

No! I’ll take

my chances

so they drove

Me back home

and one guy

threw a

Chair through the wall.

Since then I

kissed good-bye

my younger

Years filled with

drinking and

dancing with

Death not feared,

holding on

to Life

And praising Him

for still being here.

Go ahead

Breath out and in

Fill your lungs

With oxygen

Try sitting still

or holding in

Before your lungs

POP!

Burst within.

Come on over

Make some space

Drag your feet

Or skip in place

Reach out wide

and wiggle your face

Get low, drop

DEAD!

Urn or vase?

Let's play a game

Only then you'll see

The precious truth

Of dichotomy

Spit in your palm

Handshake a plea

Get ready for

NOW!

Read quickly.

Somber

Silent

Senile

Stagnant

Stillness

In Death

An immovable

Casket

Moving

Goofing

Grooving

Let-loosing

Love is

Laughing

Loud is the

Living.

Life never stops

Dancing and singing

Even the hush of Death

Can't bridle its bleating

So to live in silence

while constantly moving

Is an Oxy-

MORON!

Don't be conceiting.

I tried to find

A single instance

Where I don't die

But he does.

You know

Like a wrinkle in time

Each possibility

Rolled up

Into a stack of quarters

Ready to play

A different broadway

Song on the juke.

"Murder, Murder!"

I chose

and kept listening.

But "A Little Priest"

"Defying Gravity"

hummed a different tune.

"Ya Got Trouble"

said he.

"Wouldn't It be Loverly"

If you "Ease on Down the Road"?

No.

"Don't Rain on My Parade"

"Tonight"

"Anything Goes."

You're not "Helpless"

He cried.

Or "Satisfied,"

"All I Ask of You"

Is "Sunday."

And I

"Finishing the Hat"

Obliged.

Perhaps

"Once Before I Go"

I'll leave

the "Murder, Murder!"

Quarter

"For Good."

I race to my room and shut the door, backpack jingling like an untimely bell, beckoning parental suspicion. How could I face them? After what I'd done? I couldn't talk to my mom, or I'd give it away. I doubt my dad would look me in the eye if he knew.

You see, my dad is a professor. My mom is a doctor. And I'll be neither. Two power-housed brainiacs are supposed to produce some sort of Einstein, but with unrealistic expectations about anything, from an untucked bed to hanging all your coat hangers in one direction, my parents expect 110 percent, forgetting there's no such thing (as if 100 percent isn't already hard enough). Thus, my life is a dirty stain of failed potential, and today it's bleeding through. I'm just hoping they won't notice.

Knock, Knock.

I scramble to clean my desk space.

"Haoyu?"

I sit on my bed, straight as a plank.

Door knob turns.

I start biting my nails.

Door creeks open.

I stop biting my nails. It draws too much suspicion. And scolding.

"How was school?" My mom says, standing at the door.

"Good."

"Great. Well make sure to get started on your homework. Dinner will be ready in 3 hours."

She leaves, and I breathe a sigh of success. She didn't know...

"Haoyu!"

Oh no. It's father.

Door slams open.

"You failed out of math class???"

"Yes," I say, and start packing my things. It'll be a long night.

Yon distant hill, I saw a tree

Too Tall

Too Small

Torn weather'd and free

Too Thick

Too Thin

Tears water'd from glee

Too Bold

Too Meek

Tug’d, beaten to bleed

Young Photodendron, your swayin’ be

Too High

Too Low

Thrashin’ with fury

Too Strong

Too Weak

Thorn’d brow encirclin’

Too Right

Too Left

Throned, bearin’ all glory

For hidden ’neath your shadow'd leaves

The beatin’ sun glanced in the seams

Two Bright

One Bough

Theo, Photo, Synthesist.

Existence must mean more than suffering.

My phone died. Now I'm alive.

Stop it! No answers, just listen.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Young, you are.

Overcome, you must.

Danger, you taste. Hmmm…

Alive, are you not?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Perhaps

Our wisdom

Took too big a bite.

Do we

Really choose

What is Wrong or Right?

Truth screams,

Are you deaf

Or just now annoyed?

Conceit

talks nicely,

Life and love devoid.

Time is a veil over eternity, carrying each of us inside a single wave atop its boundless sea. Millennium after millennium, uncatchable as vapor and small as a grain of sand, drift by without a proper farewell. And yet, humans remain tethered to vessels of flesh, bound to a fixed point in space-time like a never-ending wheel, unable to go anywhere but forward. You should know I am not one of those humans. At least, not anymore.

I awoke in my garden earlier today to a sound like trumpets blaring. The holy melody made my hair stand up straight and sent shockwaves of fear through my body. I couldn’t decide if I should flee or bow, so I did neither. I laid deathly still upon my flowerbed and watched.

A  terrible yet beautiful vision flashed before me. Four animal-headed creatures, each with five eyes for seeing, six arms for performing, and seven wings for carrying, flew toward me. Every creature extended three of its wings, so they created a platform like a cloud, upon which stood a man—or perhaps a God—wrapped in a robe of shifting blue waves. On and on the train of his robe went, shading the earth behind and watering the grass below.

The man descended to my side, soiling the train of his robe with the dirt of my lawn. He asked if I needed help and I said yes, though I knew not why.

“Well then,” the man said, “would you like to go outside?”

I thought to myself, “Are we not already outside?” And before I could answer he was stepping over me.

As the train of his robe touched my forehead, I found myself naked in a garden resembling my own but surrounded by a steep ledge. The man was there too, still clothed in splendor, and I moved to his side. His presence reassured me of safety, like a warm campfire in an unknown forest.

“What is this place?” I asked.

“Nowhere we haven’t been before,” he replied.

A few minutes morphed into hours, and soon we were chatting like old friends. We went about laughing, or crying, for what felt like an eternity. That is, until someone rudely interrupted our conversation.

A strange voice rang from below, and I became dangerously aware of how high I was. Looking over the ledge, I saw the man’s robe coil underneath the garden to create a spire with our garden at its peak. Further down, the robe continued outward in an infinite spiral, covering the whole Earth in an ocean of deep blue.

“Don’t you wish to be clothed as splendidly as he?” the voice sang.

I was bested, or worsened, by my curiosity. Longing to discover the voice’s origin, I examined the spire and caught a glimpse of something circling the tower. A scaly silhouette came into view, and I realized the creature was ascending toward me.

“Is everything alright?” the man asked.

My heart dropped. I had become so distracted by the man’s robe, I’d forgotten about the man himself.

I opened my mouth, yet before I could respond a gorgeous siren emerged at the ledge. She grasped my arm and yanked, but the man also grabbed my spare arm, or I grabbed his. A most painful choice entered my mind. Either I would enjoy the man’s company but never match his prestige, or seek new beauty and risk losing a friend. In the end, I let go of the man’s hand and immediately regretted my decision.

As you question the sanity of my choice, remember I was in a vision. I really did want to stay with the man, but I craved to know what other wonders his robe concealed beneath the garden. I also figured if the seas and his robe were one and the same, wouldn’t his garments catch me? I’m still unsure of the answer.

Goosebumps coated my body as I broke the surface of cold water. I tried to open my eyes, but my eyelids clamped shut while the creature dragged me deeper downward. I fought to breathe and found no air. Water filled my lungs. Wrenching in pain, I screamed inside and hoped for death to end the constant pain of drowning.

I fully expected my life to flash before my eyes. Instead, everyone else’s life passed in front of me (including yours) as if all of human history could be blurred together, made into a stew, and forced to drink in a single sitting. Yes, I witnessed every loving sacrifice, scientific advancement, and valiant victory, most of which will be long forgotten by mankind. Yet, I also suffered through the massacre of families, torture of prisoners, and every other merciless act down to the smallest quarrel between neighbors.

O Reader, do you know what such horrors will do to a person? Men are not meant to see all things. I’d rather claw out my eyes and drown a second time than undergo the same experience again. Are we not the fruit of those who came before, and the seed of those who come after? Where do we swim in the whirlpool, or perhaps cesspool, of goods and evils we prefer to call human history?

The vision ended as I awoke in my garden on a blanket of shifting blue waves. The man previously robed in splendor sat across from me, clothed in garments of dirt. I uncorked a bottle of wine and poured him a glass.

“Thank you, Adam.” he said, and we went about laughing, or crying, for what I now know to be an eternity.