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Writer-Visual Artist
Poet. Lyricist. Writer. And Visual Artist

Fantast-Phantasm

MEPHISTOPHELES
(One Act Play)
by Steven A. J. Drake
September 13, 2008

Drake: I am shamed down through the fame of people's fancy dispirited recall. Must I crawl up the back of impervious walls? Incantations as such to be true of what good news in corners off the edge of broken rules? Dump the mind's collateral, weak of villainous times, beneath the surface of surprise, slight of revelry, bespoken. Whom are swine in question of soul ill defined? Premise taken grimaced in hearth of heart on buried shores. The sea awakens as it need be. I am here for what I see. Although, blind sighted by tonight to dream. Principalities strewn across the earth of shorn up wounds. Impervious to my perception in art perceived talking to you Mephistopheles.

Mephistopheles: Whisper words in silence of conscience. Lips of brevity. Beauty taken to length in secret depth of exposures, denuded by all whom believe in nothing newly shown. Rivers fake the waters indisposed. Weeping willows lain aside of crushing blows. Temptations run by wishing wells in wealth of those whom are radical in muck of raging undertows. Rack the brain, the thunder knows from whence to come in hollow feigned breath in death to grow in substance, verity the lightening reaches heights from ground cover. Who are you from whom I've known?

Drake: Pen your pardons in wits of wondering throes. Pariahs taken to false claims. Drain the spirit in art preordained. After all it is the world partaken gloriously in faith, not yet seen, to justify the rights of conscience gone astray to impoverished pain. Who am I you say? to stretch myself well beyond controlled balance of ill begotten buoyancy. Left alone along the lines of abandoned fields I pray. Projected leviathans they steal. Chimeric abyss. Pray tell for who to be? Waxing poetic to yield in consequence of these falls for spring time folly that nobody believes in mirth of magic conscripted in years of birth for youth to please. Imagination in depth of art deceived. Proclaimed your health from wings of angels in sacred places gone awry to learn substantially.

Mephistopheles: Take your rights for risks to live outside of punishment for forgiveness, laughing at your emptiness in dark shadows drawn from faith, to face your days in faceless memories paid in sequestered rooms that plan their heydays. Removed from all to thank yourself in perception that no one sees for the fool that you've become in fitless fits of despondency. Practical evidence for whom you say that will believe. Concepts taken frozen into these time zones. The hourglass near in nigh of whom?

Drake: Shadows dark as death in valleys known only too well in seeking answers as a child of God for sacred soul. That has cost me dearly to love at all through spellbound delivery's chain of events -sliding off this slippery slope- to cope for those whom hero worship history's bygone days that changes chances as per sight of distance gleaned in hope's projection of an avalanche. But then again I must proceed in advance of strings of attachments slipped beneath my feats of laborious practices. Ethics prevailing through the distance to bridge these gaps. Awareness, by God, I must awaken myself to the days of what is to come. Prepared or not to live, as one along the way journeyed in spirit of the soul's belabored conscience!

Mephistopheles: Until we meet again through cornered deprivation. Your tone is one that I like to argue with. Just another poet-artist. Too many for my taking in skill of death of your shadowed confessions. God is whom in heart of fair witnesses?

Drake: For whom to believe in test of conscience? Therein lies the faith of one's own attrition. Learned through health of death defying suspicions. For the devil of your own. I guess I am nothing but the flesh of my body's soul in temple of my temperance of forbearance to tolerate myself for some forgiveness? Last words! Who knows for exception of all experience shown for life's limbs of one's own testaments? After all, I've had this conversation swept out into inglorious perception, indigenous to life's longevity, the day to dream in hope of faith's uncertain times of the nights through starlight confession blown into black holes.

Mephistopheles: Farewell tonight in depth of dreams you seek through eyes of one's own lonely perception. However skilled. But what of depth of darkness lain to friendship, seeking breath? shadowed in spirit of dark promises for manhood taken to war with all good conscience. Which gives reason to test your soul out of what deliverance? I am needed for that negation of all righteous fulfilling purpose. You propose what to deem yourself a promise primordial to any new beginning you thought of yourself through what depth of caution? Fear for the sake of your undertaking. For bravery? Or dark sided cowardliness?

Drake: I'll give you that for the sake of this conversation. For the joy I seek without hubris that you have been prepared to argue with. But I must have at least some success up against the world-at-large that I have felt myself not to belong with. Perhaps another day I might be prepared in advance of our next conversation. Where angels fear to tread. Perhaps God will take me in kind faith for risking all my weakness? As a man in the eyes of God, for strength in witness of compassion to spare me one more day, compelling to art in soul of beauty seen. Whether or not you can speak of bravery or cowardliness. Therein lies the fear of wrought iron's breath through nerves of steel in depth of substance. Without any flattering evidence in depth of flagrant souls taken to Hades' underground of darkness. By God, I must have faith in spirit of what I do. Whether forsaken for diving into the depth of death's forlorn promises.

Mephistopheles: I dismiss you for another day of this undertaking. I am glad to take you on to test your faith in a world of physical evidence. Faith is nothing. Unless I can test you as you say you see, for nothing but faith in the eyes of God. However forsaken in whose heart that slips beyond the seas of time, verified in vestibule on bending  knee, blanched by fiery infernos, precautionary to the terror of your enlightenment's defeat.

Drake: Well said, for the devil in hearts of follies fool's paradise. No matter how sweet. When I've felt to belong to no one upon the planet earth's poetic breath of soul's whispered ears of shallow testaments, met by the dawn's weeping willows engaging the winds, upon sight in depth of any primordial advancement for a new beginning in floods of awakening waters baptized by the spirit of honest testaments. Although, impervious to hearts gone cold to their success of the world's verification. I have felt myself to be nothing, without love's preview of prevailing chance for a lifetime's light, age old circumstances. After all, I've had the guts without audience to dream for daytime's light of horizon over the sunset, out of the east for the west to become my honest to God friendship in accord harmoniously.

Mephistopheles: Measured by what right to the deep darkness of nights inhabited by uncertain restraints? Showered by what wisdom in light of all that is faked? To make a difference as one single individual mission for your impossible dreams. You are certainly a fool for thinking through all partitioned off faith for selling off of souls. All I have to do is wait upon those whom worship everything but the sanctity of sacred soul, except for their mortal carnage, beyond their concepts of any righteous believers fallen to me. For the wealth of privilege in heartache's infamous fame. God is the money of their temptations for toys in the attic of their addictive minds. Who is there to protect you from me, God willing substantively?

Drake: Yes, and for what enlightening entitlements perceived? Enveloped voluminous in volumes of discernment's concerted efforts of the unspeakable divination's grief of this pain's refinement out of the shadows of light speed. Notwithstanding the world that we live in, drawn into rights of revelation's truth to be free as we live with our own sincerity of sensitivity's gifts of our inherent belief system of substantiation, as God only knows for the length of its spirituality. Regardless of whom in the welfare of warfare warring for peace, going down for the count again, for any rising privileges taken to the hilt of consequences risking all that there is for prescient goals, as forever it is to be known witnessed by strength, when one feels completely alone in verity's variety shown in width of our scope's understanding the breadth of circumstances past the denial of prescient awareness of evidence at hand.

Mephistopheles: Man of many words, I'm bored with you.

Drake: And so says you and your world's temptations of my endangered species!

Drake: Persecution has no bounds in truth's resounding redundancy in depth of soul's spiritual conscientious development found among the living, felt through life's limbs of passageway's accomplishments. Whether safe or sound in faith's honest delivery. Heretofore, around the circumference of the earth's vanity, fair through eyes of hope shared. I can only dare in grief of the spirit's dangerous truth, enclosed through the weather's thunder spared to calm the seas of disparagement. For reason's refinement felt in minds of examples somewhere out there from the inside out to bare this pain to no exaggeration of disdain. When rivers come calling upon these scenes in straights of will's sacred promises. Although, drained in drills prepared despondency. But whom are those to learn through eyes and ears for some final resting place? Salvaged out of headstones lain along pristine valleys wielding arms through wailing walls of notes wedged into scriptures of Psalms, right up to God's constitutional rights for whom the bells toll in sight of hearts, I need to know. Past grief stricken undertows, rising above these ashes thrown, where embers burn in eaves of Adam's new beginnings born for privilege of birth rights, spoken bravely sown in courage witnessed across continental divides in humane spirit for the wealth of dignity's survival in faith of tomorrow's awakening. Although, raging rivers of thoughts held at risk, reflected in dark shadows auspiciously on dying vines of development, learned from whence we've become more than hell's damnable causes in purgatory's land of laws through prisms of guardianship's reprieve in miracles of freedom's light for liberty grown exponentially.

Mephistopheles: Hell! The best have gotten you.

Drake: And there has been no final follow through. When suspicion knocks on every door according to whom you really are?

Mephistopheles: What is that? The so called meek to inherit the earth? I have been around for thousands of years. What do you have to show for yourself? But empty handed practices that no one gives a damn about, unless you make it in this cold blooded, cruel, cutthroat world. You need my help assuredly. At least for that little piece of nudge.

Drake: Yes, and throw me off the edge of another endless precipice for forgiveness to come through the night's dark shadows. While I am praying to God to save my soul through the pain of overwhelming circumstances, held in the throes of people that serve you for the apocalypse of headless horsemen riding off into hell.

Mephistopheles: What makes you think you will make it into a place that you have been so uncertain of? Don't you need love of once upon a time for one more laughing excuse that pushes you off the edge of every mind game out there. I am worshiped for my wit that I can prove to give you wealth out of this modern mundane world. After every look comes to conscience for your God above.

Drake: In deed, you are a sociopath. How many more shall I deal with through my weakened states of mind? That cries out for forgiveness just to fight you -up to no end- in the eyes of some consternation of soul's forgiveness -as long as I've got breath in my lungs to live.

Mephistopheles: With whom? You have no one that believes you. For what age old forgone conclusions -prophetic prophesies- that you are fighting with. Why else would you be talking to me? How good do you think you are as convert say saint sayer, sagacious with me? Death has been your more likely companion that reason has ever served you well enough to plead your case, as near as I can see in the world beneath your feet. I can bleed you raw from body's blood, before anyone comes along to save you. Even your own family hates you. As well as so many others you've known. Where is your courage followed but into the death of your pain? Sympathy be damned, crying out for God in a world of ruthless technology for things that you are still afraid to say.

Drake: However, things are relatively seen to discover any rights of truth through the blood of inconsistent being, as per chance of any glory. Far be it from me, as per chance of my life's living witnesses poetically prevailing to save any lives that have yet to be seen. However, impervious to one's own truth, death is better than any other long lasting sleep to dream myself alive each and every day. Until I am worthy to succeed for my God given ability. No matter how engaging to prevail out of this hell that slips so far beyond me. Memory shall survive me, to learn. Even if wisdom has eluded me in concept that has driven me up to the heights of fallen promises, as a worthless human being in the eyes of my compounded safety for merits taken by your soul sellers that bid me farewell today through all false claims. Sprung out of cloven hooves in language forked by tongues. When courage has meant nothing to all impervious dreams for change, I still pray for wisdom that I may eventually see. Even though life has already cost me everything to continue on with this argument.

Mephistopheles: For your will of laughing evidence, sustained, primed out of forlorn levity's family tree of forgery. Your good has gone to hell for me. How long will you last through any primed safety? When you lose your strength to live, come calling on me, on your last nerve for the voice of God, shunned for ignorance of love of beauty. Distraught in longing off the edge of your dire complaints. Where is your Bible in word of verse rehearsed by everyone, but you?

Drake: Yes! But you did lose to Job. As one of God's favorite miracles of atonement's good graces shown. As an innocent man that slips off your fallen hands of villainous, evil, damnable practices from where you stand alone -insatiable to win from nothing, but false, fictitious claims- for forgiveness shown through temptation's goals in the wealth of the world. Whether or not anyone believes me thusly so far as time comes down these tracks of blood, that sweats from tears in all knowing years in bonding souls of bounty sold. From what has been any heads strong, or weak, for overcoming these torn threads for curtains rising out of bedlam's beds for the grace of God to come.

Mephistopheles: Until someone looks into your background, how proud will you be?

Drake: I wish them well! And how proud in shadows' depth of wondering clouds that cover themselves, allowed to circumvent the mind of God. Less for all whom become the truth's understanding to serve out fellow man, woman and child through the One for the many at hand, out of the soul's recovery through every forlorn mistaken policy. Et al, animus vital forces prospectus, who wins?

Mephistopheles: Now you are the politician. Many have followed me for egomaniacal potentates for their Aristotelian flames of flamboyancy. The poverty of villainous shame for shams of wealth's belief in a system run by hordes of bureaucratic, myopic vision that pay them handsomely. Whom are spending their minds, but in the devil of my details. Waging tales for waging wars, incomplete of faith for peace to come out of any days. Fulfilling to whom? That slip beyond their thinking skills blown off the earth right down into hell that serves them well enough without your need for trying as -one single individual-  that has absolutely no following, abandoned by everyone you've ever hoped to please. Even the one you worship has left you forlorn and crying in the wind, futile to you sins of discovery. How many more can you be, but in length of your impoverished derision out of sin?

Drake: But for one more day, relatively driven up against all odds. Even of my own sins of the body's flesh of my bones of crushing contentious evidence. Sown out of derision in guess of guests of incomplete living skills. However, real people steal for themselves, disguised in merits they wield. Which has taught me how to yield into my senseless humility. For less, I am not but just a man. Hoping for God given blessings, soulfully fulfilling rights to beauty gleaned. Spiritually through my weakened states of mind, writing and creating art out of this lonely process in search of my verity's consternation for amber light fields of dreams. Albeit, shadowed in hearth of heart to love time after time again,  in mirth of magic's despondency.

Mephistopheles: No man of God with saintly attitudes bares the truth that no one listens to. Your pain is nothing other than your excuse to write and create your lost soul's breath for brevity's peace that never comes. And what of art that no one is ever known for? To master themselves right, alone. Until the world recognizes them. That is where I come in through temptation that I can win with for them. Those whom are your nemeses. Through people's so called self discovery? When all wish to be a part of something. You are no different than anyone else.

Drake: You give me so much food for fodder's wealth of words, historically. Through all feet of clay, molded into art performed on whatever scale of life's living stage of subsistence. Anticlimactic. Diametrically opposed. Buying off bounty aboard for broad games to pen my papers to walls. If only for sanity's sanctity of safety. Whether or not I make friends out of this distance recalled. Thunder bleeds the earth raw. Time is compelling, waiting along the line of time's floodgates, broken, but by the law. Conscience braves the day. Hope in faith to save belief in things not yet seen. The earth comes through Heaven's Gate. Hell on earth for God's beauty in nature seen, resplendently. Righteousness in curses curvaceously crushed that bleed. Conquering imperfections consistently. Arms bare words of truth, however, disdained. Good comes through evil testing of our resolve. Until the last days. But never over for one's own becoming through love sustained.

Mephistopheles: Desolation of souls -completion replete of stealth's undertows- exposed for verity of life sold to be physically manifested. I am here for those whom wish to do so.

Drake: To error is human. To lie, cheat and steal against the conscience of the soul's fulfilling good graces in truth -perhaps is to be one alone- as an honest man always in trouble! I bid you gone devil: in imagination of the truth is better than no truth at all. A fool can be a fool out of all distance recalled. Unless learned through temptation -dispirited- what need of art as a gift of one's own overcoming? Yearned in longing of ethic's appreciable goals, met by thunderous perception invariably sown. For the grim weeping, disputed as disreputable for the nectar's taste upon the breath that is eventually palatable. Whether or not, if need be, sold out from conspiring evidence in throes of bedevilment's own way of villainous undertows.



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