vindication for Orc

for he is an ugly bastard,

but who's to blame?

virile Son of Orc.

Man without history, without root.

Shouting with reason, but reason hides.

Urizen dwells under the ocean,

while the mist of season curls and turns.

the mist devoid of reason---the call of the season.

out of space, out of time---out of the mountain abyssal, Orc dwells.

his bastard Son entreats, his heart yells...

"Father, for what reason hast thou birthed me,

into such a desert forlorn?

as except whatever prophecy is told for me to behold,

in this desert, I have nothing to own.

Nature and nurture, mountain and drinks of bees.

Food and intoxication, stumped hills, turning waterwheels.

The canopy and the vigils of stars. And the ocean's old ken.

I beheld, and possess them not---Father, Orc!

Turning ever forwards---Fortune, now even yesterday is cherished yore.

The history before me flees, overreaching---my hand grips nothing.

Save for a moment's pleasure and an eternity of woes!

O father, an eternity of lust and a moment of sore!

O Father---Orc, wherefore I was made.

In such a desert forlorn--? that every word out of my chewed bloody tongue,

through the dancing tushes becomes true,

yet flees from me always---every sound I uttered?

the flown memories of sweet, erstwhile songs?"

Orcus told not, nor mourned.

chuckled he, and the hills shook.

the cave to which he is a prisoner enlinked,

splendid, chased with shadows of phantasmic forms.

the ocean churns, and arosed was Urizen.

to Man without history, without root.

Shouting with reason, but reason he spoke without.

virile Son of Orc.

for he is an ugly bastard,

he who is Orc, Son of Orc.

a cavern within a cavern, a song within a song.

a prisoner held inside Promethius' enchained stone.

Orc sleeps & Orc awakes, without time.

but time depletes itself as each dream passes.

---and Urizen stirs under the primal Ocean,

in his dully golden palace upon deep bed of corals,

the sleeping-ground of dead Emperies.

while above the seas, the mist of season curls and turns.

while the splendid mist of carrion flies curls and turns.

---

--referencing William Blake's mythopoeia.