Foreword

A Taste Of Paradise is a poetry manuscript modified from a poetry chapbook I wrote under the guidance of Dr. Ricardo Sanchez.

- Stephen W. Cote, July, 1995

A Taste Of Paradise

As I Was Raised Upon The Cross


Part I: From The Pool

From the mercury pool of dream
I rose ashen and solemn,
The nails scabbing my palms,
And for the moment
I contemplated ...

Only for a single moment.

About me - a haze of misted remembrance.
A derelict recital
Of one more cattle truck
Deciding to drive one more mile -
And I awaited for the next ride.

A ghost of a downtrodden smile -
Thousands of hands
From the fallen refugees,
The politically free
Of this astral land.

And I was only a child
In the body of a man.
Each hand beckoned me,
All from a thousand directions - 
Each sleeved in tattered rags -
The nails mending the seams,
Each remembering how they used to be.

And in their open minds
They cried individually
     "Upon the cross, I'll finally be free."

Part II: ... and I saw that I was armored

When I finally opened my eyes,
Though I was only one of the few -
And when I saw that I was armored,
I made up my mind to make them all believe,
That I could make them do,
Whatever I wanted them to.
I could make them all laugh
And if I so chose, make them all die.

Neath the armor,
Clad in this metal skin,
My primal mind raged to be free -
To finally be free,
And I could not hold it in -
So there I stood
Upon a floating mass of land,
And the whole world sailed in splendor,
Yet I was alone, a single island -
And I could fly anywhere I wished
If I could only unlock
The painful memory I had tucked away.

Burning in my heart
The embers smolder the dream apart.

From the metal, the beast raged.
And broke free.
From the beast, the metal contained.
And restrained.
And the beast was captive again.

Part III: ... through her eyes I became free

I took a hand, the nearest to me,
And I felt the empathy flow.
I knew she was curious,
And that she knew I was scared.

I knew that she had sewn love together,
And had suckled upon the breast of hatred.

The bells tolled.

I held the hand and became the beast.
The black timber wolf.

Why a wolf ?
I am not a wolf.
I am a man.
A man.

The beast bit the hand,
And when I returned,
I could only hold the hand
And watch it bleed.

I hungered for the blood.
And so I drank.

I could feel her thoughts as my own,
Though the primal animal in my mind
Knew who it was, and thus,
I could not be controlled.
I controlled.
And I looked out through her eyes,
And through her eyes, I became free.

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Last Updated: 8/11/95