To celebrate the launch of this FIRST EDITION of a self-published pamphlet containing all 11 poems in the Complete Collection of BALADIN’S DREAM and OTHER TALES by edenbray, along with full Authors Notes, I am offering a signed, printed hard-copy for just £5 inc. post/packing for orders within the United Kingdom and £6.50 inc. shipping for orders outside the UK ~ This is a limited time offer!

#NOTE ~ please email ME ;~ stepheneede689@btinternet.com or post a comment in the comments box at the foot of this page and request details of how to make payment ~ including your name and the address where you would like the printed copy to be sent ~ PLEASE indicate if it is to be a gift.        Many thanks ~ edenbraytoday

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TO Celebrate the occasion I am re-posting all eleven parts  –  Today it is BALADINS DREAM  ~ Part IV ~ THE THEATRE OF THE ABUSED

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BALADIN’S DREAM

and OTHER TALES

by edenbray

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BALADIN’S DREAM ~ IV

Authors Note ~

I determine to write what I feel and what really matters! I could write of flower-strewn valleys, of powder-puff clouds, scudding across cerulean skies above green fields where fattened cows wander contentedly beneath snow-capped mountains, lakes and gorges. Of places only the rich and the famous may vacate to squander their loose change …  but then there is Baladin my ageless companion, my friend and advisor, my alter-ego. He is my Leonardo cartoon, an unfinished Hemingway,  a Picasso drawing one Carlos Garcia found in a box in a Madrid attic. Baladin has seen it all and more. More than most anyway and yet still emerges in the sunlight, blizzard or in the rain and steps up for yet more of this tortured, human experience.

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BALADIN’S DREAM

IV

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THE THEATRE OF THE ABUSED

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Raw emotion, an open wound, sore to touch and feeling

That time has drawn a veil or laid a skin and caused

the sounds to mutter inaudible and blurred 

by bright light and anger

An anguish that looks, enquires ~ those questions raised

against the darkest backdrop

A curtain of certainty within the Theatre of the Abused

Where patient hands tend the broken and bloodied and

patient people listen

To sordid tales true and set, moist with tears or

wet and daubed with blood

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The searching lights that probe, outline many failing thoughts

Where children’s laughter once would be 

but now is lost to the grey

Or faint in hope or sense, they wait for the water cold

to stir and a new light to invade their memories

If sad we must be, then sad and mourn we with

the cold night wind

That frail flesh that gave its heat in dark despair

No truth can sooth the marvellous mind of reason

so teased by fate and the chance of evil’s choice

Or left drawn and limp on the wheel of human pain

✝ ✝ ✝

Only personalities special touch can sense or divine

such healing medicine

To calm the tortured night, the warm, tropic breeze

of feeling light

A gaze, embrace, a kissed poultice pressed and moistened

by summer sun

The evening dew which lays heavy on the brow

of many dazed and wounded

Only personality, which loved and needed takes

the broken bones so brittle

In small moments, warms the embers to fire

and spit back energy into emotions corpse

To confront the taped, stored scars which lay in steel cold

drums in damp, forgotten basement buildings

Labelled by a system even faded, lost, as never meant

to use or aid the bearer

Personality speaks a language so rare, we have heard it

only in a distant dream

Where soft words engage our earliest memories to instruct

us and enlighten

This world a bigger place, where part of universal

chemistry we once stepped

Unfettered by any sadness the decreasing skyline offers

The earth’s choice, singular, selfish, insular yet not divisive

We, born of personality ~ a person!

We, born of sense, reason and love ~ a living person 

and Baladin only weary, turns slowly in his sleep

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written 02.10.1991 – edited 19.02.2012/31.12.2019

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Da Edenbray