SISTERS OF MERCY

I knelt in submission before the throne of grace
Guarded by two veiled women of Truth
Sisters of purity, staring deep into my soul…
Feeling pity for this wounded man
whose heart bore the scars of many battles…
Mercy and Love surely were their names
They both stood in silence
Looking without judgement at this corrupted man of flesh…

Wisdom beyond their years, yet without age!
Harbingers of light
Shining into humankind’s hidden depths
Enabling my eyes to see true beauty once more
Each glance filling my heart with Hope, with Love
Making demons shudder-Angels weep…

Granting me God’s favour, mercy, kindness…
So softly walking into my spirit
Setting me free, as slowly they depart
These majestic-regal-spiritual beings
Who have seen, who know life’s secrets
Yet still remain clothed in humility
Leaving me quietly weeping
Knowing they have my heart for eternity…

M C Bolton July 2021

@MarkCBolton1

Sudanese Women in Egypt by Max Slevogt (1914)

Ravens of Madness

The gauntlets of darkness compress my brain

Feeling constantly stoned, drunk with too much wine

Yet I have partaken of neither grape nor herb in years!

My eyes are not in sync as I stumble around

like a Dickens character trapped inside an unfinished novel

Never to be read or published

Flitting from page to page searching for my lines

For my own story within this crazy story…

These days, even though I sleep longer, I still find no rest

I dread waking up! Oh! so grateful I do…

Has my God left me? Am I deluded?

Sent out of his pity?

For to see the wretched humanity deep within my soul

would be too much sorrow for a man to bear…

Am I a lost boy to conscience?

Alone running through a petrified forest

Thunder, lightning overhead, my own 1812 overture

While shrieking ravens fly above

Mocking! Mocking! Mocking!

Dark ravens of madness that now forever fly inside my head

Mocking! Mocking! Mocking!………………

M C Bolton 2021 @MarkCBolton1

MASQUERADE

Many believe they walk in the light,

followers of the truth

Enlightened ones, morally superior

Virtuous in speech and deed

driven by socio-political ideology,

not a sense of humanity,

unable to extend the hand of grace or mercy

to the dissident….

Always afraid of the individual

as their power is in the herd

for alone a man may come to his senses

Individualism must be crushed,

free thinkers mocked-ridiculed-silenced

This Renaissance must be controlled

to support the narrative….

Yet the real truth, the treasure of darkness

comes in a gentle breeze,

is spoken in whispers,

shrouded in mystery,

hidden from sight

Beyond comprehension,

binding the universe together

It is Love’s constant companion,

bringing true freedom,

an internal light

enabling perception,

seeing into the heart of mankind………

M C Bolton, August 2020

@MarkCBolton1

The Witchfinder General

Creatio Ex Nihilo

I float over the dark waters

God has not yet uttered the words of creation

there is no darkness or light

time or dimension

 

I don’t exist-for I am already here!

Amongst beings beyond imagination

feeling nothing or seeing…

Outside eternities concept

he speaketh light into existence

 

A sound so terrifying it emulsifies nothing into matter

I enter a tunnel spinning naked

passing trees, plants, creatures

all without fear or impurity

perfection-landing in paradise

walking upon dew-covered grass

underneath the most turquoise of skies

 

warm-clean air filling my lungs

knowledge flooding my mind

along with the understanding of Love…

 

This is it the beginning-the first day

there is no death or hatred-lust or greed sickness or sorrow…

No past, no pain, only tomorrow……..

 

©M C Bolton July 2020, @MarkCBolton1

below by @tomhcharles

 

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Protego (a Poem for Easter)

Every night you hold me in your arms

my head at rest against your heart…

Darkness dutifully invading

daylight gently retreating…

 

I feel my breath leave my body

like a ghost passing through a wall…

So soft your wings-smoothed by eternity’s tide…

Drifting slowly-peacefully into deep sleep

floating away upon love’s rainbow sea…

 

To awake alone-blessed with another day

starting anew this journey of life

with hopeful expectation

of your unseen entrance,

my silent protector…

 

Seeing only your delicate footprints

on past times’ sand…

Forever watching over me

my comings-my goings

in good times-in bad!

 

As to all mankind, that day will come

when I will grasp your hand

entering that tunnel of light

travelling to my Heavenly home

into the arms of my God

saved by the lambs’ precious blood

to be forever with you, my Angel………………

 

M C Bolton, March/April 2020

@MarkCBolton1

 

 

Protego
Photo: ‘Blossom on the walk today’ – Diana Charles

Apocalypse 1

I knelt in front of heavenly beings

creatures of unimaginable form

striking fear-terror deep into the hearts of men

destroying without mercy or pity

sending souls to that dark place

without light – devoid of love

to be eternally damned

outside of this dimension

where there is no tomorrow

just the constant now of torment

screaming tears wailing

overture to the lost…

 

Those who refused God’s hand of grace

wallowing in this world’s pit of sorrow-lies-falsehood…

who through their own self-righteousness-intellect

needed not a saviour…

 

Ridiculing the simple-hearted

who believed in salvation

through the cross…

that followed not political ideology

or utopian dreams

knowing their own hearts

were beyond cure…

 

Never judging or virtue signalling

impelled to show kindness to all…

to be hated by the masses

who despised their old-fashioned ways…

lunatics-fools-truth seekers…

spiritual lepers clothed in rags

exchanged for robes of righteousness

through the blood of the lamb

the son of God

who rides a pale horse

bringing death and judgement

to all nations…..

 

© M.C.Bolton January 2020

@markcbolton1

 

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picture from here

Lost

On visiting my heart’s darkest places

finding a small boy

slowly walking through its damp caves of solitude

loquacious dripping tears

like Morse code esperanto

 

Tapping in desperation upon granite

trailing behind this pitiful creature

forever a prisoner in this stone maze

Masks of my many false selves

hewn out of this cold rock

staring like Easter Island heads

deep into my soul…

 

Turmoil, torment – my long lost companions

reminding me of alcohol, drug fuelled evenings

nights of lust masquerading as love

my sober morning conscience

washed away by another drink

before my deluded state exposed

 

‘Why do you wander?’

that is my destiny

never to rest, eat, sleep

until I find what it is I seek

 

Reason-meaning devoid of my quest!

‘tell me your name’ I begged

reaching out his hand

whispering softly like God to Elijah

‘I am you

‘My name is Fear….’

 

Lost

© M.C. Bolton September 2019, 

Drawing by @tomhcharles

 

Recherché

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I sit amongst my dreams

in the graveyard of my mind

like Legion – no chains can bind me

Tormented by my failings

as a father – as a man

a husband, lover, friend…

walking with the dead

into the mist

leaving society…

 

Pacing slowly towards eternal insanity

chanting in unison

sharing candlelit pitiful piety

with aged knights

wearing armour

that has rusted into futility

stopping neither arrow nor sword

my heart pierced by steel

no crown of thorns

as I cling to the cross

thirsty for my saviour’s blood…

 

Forever carrying the splinters, the scars

of infinite salvation

offered freely – yet costing all

morality of the highest order

expected – demanded

countered by universal grace

judgement defeated – vanquished

 

My feet bleeding

from walking on flint

knowing like Joab

I will be struck down

clinging to the altar of the Lord…

 

 

by M.C. Bolton, August 2019,

photo of Bole Hill Quarry, Peak District by OG

Phantasmagoria

I saw paradise in her eyes

Eden before the fall

free of snake or thorn

innocence recaptured

through such beauty

 

I stare at her shadow

which slowly overwhelms my soul

any feeble pretence

swept away by truth

 

All too much for one man’s heart

rose of Sharon – lilly of the valley

adorned in jewels

feet of gold

words formless – eluding me…

 

Like that brief silence

in no man’s land

when barrages ceased

before whistles blown

then over the top

to be felled by lead

drowned in mud

 

Ultimate transubstantiation

pitiful cries to God – for Mother

paradise eyes returns

slowly dropping daisies

into my dreams

pulchritudinous – Stendhal syndromatic!

 

My Rosebud – snow globe breaker

I am confused, lost, floating

in a sea of idealistic isolation

clinging only to the

eternal lifebelt of hope….

 

 

© MC Bolton, June 2019

 

 

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