The Campaign Builder's Guild

Pygmalion the Cypriot

She yields her form to summer's love
Faithful, gazing to the dawn
No lies emerge from marble tongues
To betray the work of man

The touch of Venus can give life
But cruel is the mode of flesh
Eternal stone now fades away
Perfection, too, shall wither

As the sculptor breathes upon her
She is born to servitude
When ideals are lowered to us
We carve away their beauty

This is what we have missed from Eldo.

More, More!!!

Quote from: LordVreeg More, More!!!

Moar!

Möbius strip (Song of the Eternal)

Behold! Celestial, immortal!
The glory of a naked truth!
Horizons gleaming'"regal, cordial!
The dawn demanding tribute!

My feeble mind cannot contend
Tangled in the lariat
Of hubris and bravado

I welcome, then, the solar wind
Arcing from the chariot'"
The arrows of Apollo

Love shall come in autumn
She is supple, strong, and sure
The boughs shall bow in reverence
To this monarch on her tour

Love shall come in autumn
Dressed in shades of red and gold
Much like the Scarlet Pimpernel
From the dime store tales of old

Love shall come in autumn
Chewing peaches, pears, and prunes
Undressing trees and laying bare
Underneath the harvest moon

Love has come in autumn
Chasing storm clouds from the sky
She guides me to her paradise
Where I fear that I may die

Hospital afternoons: A dream in alabaster

Millennial columns, the archways of ancients
The Julian star, Ides and tarnished altars
Many-armed Death in its primeval splendor—

Tumbling, churning
The crashing of chariots
Mustangs, wild and galloping

—Peace between the pulses
Eternity in rhythm.

behold:
the pillars have graffiti,
the triumphal arc collapsed.
the idols of our fathers
are this generation's trash.

the daylight dons its purple shroud
and twilight's sickle draws.
i wonder if the night's eyes peer
beyond the lights and methane fog.

an endless arm of shadow
coils through the city.
i feel it drawing near me,
an oppressor without pity.

much like the tombs of pharaohs
from that desolate design,
this is love's lost ancient empire
sand-swept and sunk from time

It took this long to wonder:
Was I master or a slave?
Was I the earth beneath you
Or the mud atop your grave?

In those long days of tumult
You held the rebel flag
Now I see it dip and fray,
Its tattered remnants sag

The grin that haunts, that hinders
The wind that whistles soft—
Sing these both in requiem
To keep thy soul aloft

Lest I forgive compassion
Or memorize deceit
I will admit complacence
Unto my own defeat

The obelisk eroded,
The widow in despair,
The broken stained glass window,
Burnt volumes of Voltaire—

I took this time to wonder
Am I worth the time to save?
Am I the sky above you
Or the darkness of a cave?

Quote from: dis   jointed;

The jangling of change in a nearly empty plastic cup
   the screech of the child laborer as garment becomes armament
Hospital eyes and graveyard mouth

   When the white-haired world grew weary—
   While the old man up and died—
   Fervent, I scribbled a story about robots [and listened to 2pac]

red on black, red on tan, red on flesh, red on hand
   the hum of highway empires
      born to dock-door dealers

had we only known
had I cared
I may not have let you
perish like that
like so much
expired bread

what can I hope for but to be the second fondest memory of any other soul?

But then:    the scarlet sunburst
      the amber eye-grin
      found in strangerland
      burning in my spirit like a fire in a library
      curling away to ash the pages of my regret

scintillate, scour, survive
   ever grow,
   ever glow.

The shawl of silence, curtaining despair
Sundered us from that unseemly age
We, who held no hope for our own repair
Dismantled in the triumph of our rage

We were lost to the mists of ancient lands
Caught between the Ganges and the Indus
As our great conquest reached that lone expanse
'Neath those peaks of sorrow and remembrance

With thee, I crossed the river Rubicon
And meddled in affairs long left alone
I thought myself a martyr whereupon
You rose to quell the dream of any throne.

The wild-eyed ghost of our antiquity
Will thus survive through serendipity

Quote from: Prosperity GospelJesus is a scrawny man down there in the slums
Yelping to his friends who, like him, are nothing more than bums
No jobs, no friends, not a cent of property
They just pick up their sticks when they hear Jesus speak

A Bentley splashes mud upon their little cardboard huts
Out comes Mr. Huxley in a brand new tailored tux
Mr. Huxley steps over Jesus on pristine alligators
His shining cross-shaped belt buckle is the envy of his neighbors

Huxley takes his seat at the arena-sized revival
Next to a woman who killed that mink coat for her survival
And all his rivals for heaven's blessings are there
To look at Lady Lila and her luscious, lavish hair

Lady Lila licks her lips before she lunges to the crowd
Pushing prosperity to the princes and the proud
Now, Lady Lila would tell you that she has not a care
For it was God's only love that made her a multi-millionaire

Look at this, His temple, built for the teeming masses
But restricted to members of the finest social classes
You need only apply if you wish to genuflect
And Lady Lila lets you in after a little credit check

God's there in his heaven so go on and treat yourself
What's the point of His love if you can't enjoy your wealth?
Camels and needles are all fine and swell
But everybody knows you can buy your way out of hell

Jesus is a scrawny man down there in the slums
He smells a little weird and his men are on the run
No job, not a friend, please don't give him sympathy
It's Lila who needs all your tax-deducted charity