Return of the Archons

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star-trek
“It’s time you learned that freedom is never a gift. It has to be earned.” – Captain James T. Kirk, as played by William Shatner in “The Return of the Archons” Star Trek (Original Series, Season 1, Ep 21, Feb 9, 1967) Written by Boris Sobelman

An impotent frenzy of black rage grabs hold of me
And I open each door within my tired bruised irate mind
Click, click, sharp pulling of the brass handle, what do I see?
Tell me, tell me, don’t keep me waiting, what do I find?

Nothing, for a cosmic emptiness, has filled me up
Nothingness born of the vague lethargy of the times
I hear somewhere in the vast distance “Time to wake up!”
At the edge of sanity, I hear the sound of wind chimes

Voices, screaming mad at the wind in a raging storm
Growling sounds of the forgotten threads of the lost soul
What strange beast-like shapes in the corner of my eye form?
What is this burrowing through the darkness like a mole ––

–– that comes to me from the bottom of my torn apart heart?
Lost, I turn to the dim left and to the dimmer right
And I cannot see it at all, I pause and I start
Darkness kills every star, extinguishes all the light

I feel movement in my chest, out of sequence beating ––
–– in my heart – for night has embraced my soul’s ancient roots
Streaks of a berserker-wildness radiate fleeting
I can hear the clamor of a million marching boots –

–– through the under-depths of my desire and sub-reason
“Hear me Poet,” says the darkness so shapeless and raw
“Who are you?” I ask trembling, “I am the new season …
The hidden reserve below the bottomless black maw…

I am the door to the abyssal elsewhere
I am the pathway to the legions of unknown might
I am that which is skinless, bleeding and muscle tore bare
I am the once impotent rage let into the light.”

The voice fades still and I find myself sitting alone…
Only my own cough for company and the annoying sound –
–– of the low battery pulsing of my glowing cell phone
I turn it off and kneel down, put my ear to the ground

Beneath the floorboards and the concrete, I can discern ––
–– a strange rumbling digging clawing racket of muffled din
Pressing my ear and face closer still, can feel it burn
The heat of hell itself imprints in pain on my skin

“Are you there?” I ask in breathless whispers, like a slave
“Yes I am, let them all know, let Earth, mankind hear…
I am digging myself out of man’s memory’s grave.”
Anxious and unmindful now of anything even fear …

My ear, face, and cheeks on fire I ask What is your name?
Silence, waiting, beating of my heart… stops on a dime
Then the digging continues, sudden pause, perverse game
Nothing, finally words “I am Chronos, Titan of Time.”

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