Louie Madrid Calleja, BFA (York), MA (York)
Composer, Conductor, Scholar

Chronicles (2004) - excerpts
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Note to reader: Since some of the poems contain the name of the person for which it is written, these excerpts have been slightly edited to keep that person anonymous.

Darkness has descended on my hall
as the bright rays of sunlight peeked;
There is a gentle howl in the air
as the wind beckoned.
Winter's chill entered my bones
bringing them close to the realm
of perpetual sleep.
To rest,
To sleep,
to finally escape this agony
called Love -
The desire of the already dead
as we walk in the world of the living.
Eyes that meet,
eyes that forget the moment that eyes meet,
forever lost, forever the travellers in an unknown land.
Lost dreams, the land
of illusions and delusions
of countless remissions and revisions
as the world of lost dreams beckon
the unsuspecting hurt ones, to drown.
Love, the land of agony and ecstasy,
of nightmare and fantasy,
forever the cloud that looms over existence.
We fall back as it follows,
we die as it lives
feeding on the rotting carcass
as it watches bones bleach under the glare of the desert sun.
We drink its blood and we find thirst,
we seek life but we find death.
Love unrequited,
Love unreturned;
holding on to that which causes pain.
Agonizing ecstasy, pleasure of pain,
the agonizingly ecstatic pain of pleasure -
this we treasure.
In riches we find we are poor,
rich in love and yet devoid of the one
from which to share that love.
Unrequited, unreturned
I fall under its glare
beckoning from the suffering that gives self-destruction
its life giving glow.
At the beckoning of the twilight land
I reached out my hand
as the tentacles of time wandered
a pilgrim in black pondered
on the whereabouts of a maiden fair
(her head laiden with reddish brown hair)
as he watched the setting sun.
At the beckoning of the twilight land
I noticed the slow movement of the sand
as the minutes passed into hours
I beheld the smell of flowers
like the sweet scent that comes from thy neck
glimpses of heaven's garden, mere speck
of wondrous delight.
At the beckoning of the twilight land
my ears beheld a silent command
to leave thine maiden be
as she travels across the sea
in search of her gentle heart
(a beauty - such divine work of art)
that beats in her heaving bosom.
At the beckoning of the twilight land
I wondered if the gods had planned
that such an angel would haunt
this memory filled by the taunt
of one word this angel uttered,
a word so gently muttered;
My heart spasmodically fluttered
when she called me
"sTHUpidhed . . ."
I think of thee again this night
amidst the silent glow of candlelight
as the heavens and angels sleep
in me you remain buried deep
in a breast that constantly weep
for your touch
your kiss
your smile.
Deprived I am of such wonder
as all things I cast asunder
to be by your side.
This my soul cried
as I watched your eyes unseen look
into me like an open book.
And as I tear open these pages,
bindings, shackles, and cages,
these arms reach out into the darkness
calling out your name.
Maiden, sweet Maiden, from across the sea
how this pilgrim wishes that he could be
with you forever and through the ages
amidst the challenges and spells of Sages
to be held and to hold
together a blanket in days of cold;
And with one silent whisper
from thy lips of burgundy lisper
I fall into the ecstatic abyss
where you dwell,
this well . . .
For tonight it is you I miss
Maiden, sweet Maiden,
From thy lips in dreams I crave
One kiss . . .
I see thee from afar
as the moon shines in a red glow.
There is a silence that is deafening
for your soul is silent
and still
as the grass sleeps underneath the winter snow.
I see you from afar yet I know not
if that is truly you I see
for I see not the soul that blinds me,
but a shell of what used to be -
beauty of undying eternity.
And yet I know that such beauty I love
dwells within thy bosom
for as I see you from afar
your brightness remains near
yet out of reach from these beckoning hands
that bleed in agony for one touch,
one caress from your nimble fingers.
Your eyes I met not in that chamber,
your smile I did not see,
and yet in that chamber I sought you
as I would if you've dwelt across the sea.
Oh Maiden, sweet Maiden,
this heart aches for what could be -
to have you and to hold,
for to me you are more precious
than all silver and gold.
From across the crowded chamber
I stared at the darkness
as the torches lit brightly
the smiling faces
of the troubadours I know.
There sat the Angel with her eyes
of bluish-grey-green hue;
Who knew
that such a creature could pierce
a heart that longed only for her tenderness
such as that of the morning dew?
As I sat silently weeping
for the wound she, gloriously afflicting,
my gaze fell upon the object of her love
whose seated presence in silence screamed and slashed
tearing open my flesh
as the blood trickled fresh onto the floor.
There lay the merciful Door
beckoning me
as I wished to dash forth
and be drowned in the distant sea -
"I beseech thee, save me and finally set me free!"
I spoke to her in silence as her eyes evaded mine
whilst I strangled myself with thorny vine
that hung from the invisible scaffold.
My moonbeam of Sunday eventide is gone,
the Angel has fallen;
I stared at the feathers from her wings
that once carried me on wave upon wave of bliss
on ships decorated with golden mast -
But this all is now in the Past...
For her my Love will undyingly remain
as I whisper
to Her
amidst the agonizing pain...
my final
"Farewell . . ."

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Last updated August 3, 2015