Favonius

 

FAVONIUS



Every servant needs a master,
For they are the aster.
With each petal comes wisdom,
With wisdom comes solidity.

'Tis yet another sunny meadow that I witnessed—
    While a young boy sat at the very cliff,
Surrounded with asters, was he a servant or a master?
As long as the wind remained, he was safe from the disaster.

"Ah, so you have arrived" chuckled the young lad,
"Truly we are ill-fated then, are we not?"
Perhaps he knew, knew that my coming
Was a herald of the doom forthcoming.

We can be the gods in our lives' gardens,
Once the fence is gone, the valor hardens.
But the cliff— to believe in such an hopeful existence?
    I say, his mind was long gone,
Such persistence is a gateway to resistance that demands assistance craving consistence!

As my soul, tainted, grew stronger standing next to him,
His clouds grew grim, yet he kept smiling.
A question to be asked, I allowed,
His brothers, why are they covered in hollow shroud?




Every servant needs a master,
For they are the aster.
Favonius, I say, this is life,
And there I quote "mors vincit omnia".

He starts praying, tears flooding, I stop him.
Oh for a god who would indulge our every whim!
I become his God, his tone now awed,
He plodded away at the same dream for too long.

My finger reaches his heart, but I see his mind,
I can't strike my scythe for I am kind.
"Favonius" I say, "dare you see your brothers?"
He nods and my scythe hardens, sharpens.

A glimpse of a young boy surrounds us both,
Like an adolescent without a master, lacking growth.
A figure appears, indeed, and what a glimpse—
    It was to be blinded back then
His Sorrow, unlike mine, weakens and shrinks.

My heart, now weak, demands a tribute,
For Favonius bleeds it once again.
Quickly I must drain him or he shall unleash his reign!
Not before long, another glimpse is in vain.

Sore wings burn Favonius and I accept his heat,
To my surprise, he still swings his feet.
Hide your Sorrow all you want my child,
The Bleeding has begun and you are defiled.

He remembers his brother and the ashes within,
All the roses now turned into a spike in his skin.
I raise my scythe before he goes blind,
And tear Sorrow's throat and let its blood gush out.

With Sorrow gone, Joy left Favonius.
Like instruments of pain, his flesh became metal—
    And dare I say, he looked exquisite
Face became masks, it was too soon to settle.
The haunting abyss was coming for the petal.

How touching it is to see a man with his mask,
Against finite Joy, this shall ever bask.
By my hand you will find mercy,
And torment's act will end for you.
 
Every servant needs a master,
For they are the aster.
Favonius, I say, you were dead
the moment passion spread.

Vanquished, Sorrow brought the mask,
The time had come to enjoy our flask.
"Now I will reach where mind loses,
And passion becomes muses."

A glimpse of a child, deep beneath a cave,
Corrupted, a tainted body is what we crave.
Warmth of the inquisitor lit the path to damnation,
Strings became muse, she was your heart's reincarnation.

A rotten flesh serves no purpose, then, what is there to capture?
Madness surrounded me, Favonius' was a foolish rapture!
Blinded, deafened, and finally murdered, why shall it matter!
I was dethroned as a God, she made us shatter.

Rotten or not, corrupted or purged, I was a fool to question,
These questions were born from aggression, a foolish obsession.
"Conclude your saga, hasten the suppression, AND FORGET THE TRANSGRESSION"
    T'was me who broke the cycle.
Neither the heart of a soul long forgotten was in your possession.

The blood that once filled his heart and excitement,
Was now pouring down from his eyes for incitement.
Such a sight it was, destroying my expectation,
The bane of my existence decorated my foundation.

The blood decorates the mask, the mask hides the wind,
As their master bled, so did the asters surrounding the blind.
With his wind gone, pinned he was to his destiny,
My scythe had forged his grand entropy.

The Devouts - Andres Rios



Every servant needs a master,
For they are the aster.
Favonius I say, your death, my life,
The beast welcomes an uneasy strife.

"Surely," I whisper, "you understand now"
The beast stands tall, yet no power.
Will I live to write another verse?
Or will he succumb to my curse?

"Surely," says he, "I understand now;
The young boy was I, unleashing my doom,
With doom came Sorrow, and dare I say
I loomed on the horizon, led myself astray.
Death's smile gazed upon me, but never
have I killed another's joy, ever.
All dying too quickly, my my,
I had to hide not to have my heart dry."

My scythe hungered, but just like his passion
    Which become his muse
His verses were mine and my face was ashen.
A betrayal it would be to show compassion.

"Surely," says he, "I understand now;
The beast was I, unleashing my hunt,
With hunt came Lust, and dare I say
bled my heart and blinded my sight.
Blinded, I watched myself wizen."

From one adventure to another, I accompanied you,
As wind blew, life's brew flew for I knew
that you grew and found a beautiful view,
The very view that captured you.

"Doubtfully," says he, "I am all;
Once a boy who brought gates of mind down,
Once a beast who feasted, yet starved still,
And now, all. A spirit well hidden,
A mask that no longer reveals,
A beast that is now dead.
I pray, one last time, that I find peace,
And for this eternal pain to cease."
He calls... me.

The trial was held and three you were,
Thus came her and everything was a blur.
I was the judge, sitting atop my throne,
But I was no king like you have shown.

My heart desired death, so I tore myself apart,
My idiocy became childish, thus came Joy.
My heart became a monster, thus came Lust.
My mind endured all, thus came Favonius.

To unleash eternal peace, we must be destroyed,
Slaves to the void within, annihilation will come,
The scythe hungers and leaves you numb,
Let this be the end we cannot escape from.

Rose, an eternal blow is struck,
Just as their master, the asters withered away.
Before long, the scythe had me tore,
And our story was no more.
January 14, 2023

This is the conclusion of what I call the "Trial" saga. With so many vague descriptions attempting to create a background for not just three but four major characters of my poem "The Poem About A Trial", I feel satisfied with the universe I attempted to create. Each poem tried to confront a specific theme, emotion or purpose, but that should be obvious by now.
Needless to say, chaos lingers but something else doesn't. It is I.






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