Within the laughter of the grass,
Lonely sits the faun.
No longer ecstatic with joy,
Bacchus has died today.
Whine he no longer drinks,
Slaughter, dripping blood of his kin.
Moonlight Ride of the HorsemanDarkness hovers as a thick mist around,
Seeping into soft skin, penetrating light of Diana.
Upon the great mount, the White Horseman,
Mystic of ages, consul of secrets.
Ride upon the whispers of Silent Night,
In thy hand the grasp of souls.
And flowing mane of thy servant
Playing in tiptoe games with Wind.
Drink only of the raw dew does oneself,
Graceful droplets of the clean tree
In action of purity and sanctity.
To be clean of the ground thy tread,
Noiseless banter upon soft mud.
The ride is smooth as quicksilver,
Unattached to Their lonesome world
And yet still free from natures refuge.
Light prevails, upon darkness
That suffocates the wandering tract.
And fleeting glimpse of the ride,
Of one such as thee, blinds sight
A feeling of euphoric disillusion.
A pained uncertainty of sanity,
As illusion is the isle of Circe.
And still nameless stranger creeps.
Great black slender crept,
In silence upon splash of blood red.
Slowly to sink the
RustThe progression of the ambience upon the shadowy silhouettes,
A deep cut in natures grimace, no longer the melancholic silence.
Fresh dew, a varnish on the hovel, the foundry of man's emptiness,
His footprints bare and old, and knife is carcass to the rust.
But the noise is still existent, the ringing and chimes of
The scratch of the axe upon the flesh.
No longer screams, a melody of chimes and bells.
So sweet the music.
FleshThough flesh has left the earth,
Opiate, so sweet has not.
But stays rather,
An open wound.
Frequent guest of ours,
So close to thy heart.
Phthisis should be leaving,
Soon, upon my own departure.
Blinding to the senses of me,
Taste only knows sawdust,
Vision knows no colour,
Touch is an illusion.
And I, left ravage for the wolves.
Upon this empty bed,
Struggling to raise my hand,
Trying to grab your ghost.
Ghost there is not,
A picture frame instead.
Your timeless face,
To beautiful to be fully captured.
Forever expression you hold,
Always that weak smile,
Anticipation- lonesome sign,
The coming of the Reaper.
The Simplicity in DesireMy delirious lust hangs moist,
Once more for the sweet taste of your smile.
But what is gone forever, is forever lost,
And within your tabernacle lie only bones and echoes.
Like a dusty coffin, built to last only the showroom,
You are already beginning to fade.
And still your voice echoes throughout
Silent hallways upon the dry cracked covering.
Persistent as ever,
Never ceasing to shatter the heart.
The war was lost and the soldiers fell like toys
No matter the cries for an end, they all fell.
One by one their spirits risen,
As the Grandfather of the Stream
Will ride once more to lock them into eternity.
My doubts however resurface,
Eternity has never been what it seems.
What was dubbed eternal has always become mortal.
Even in the life of yourself,
You lied with every word from
Your soft lulling voice.
Your lullaby shambled,
Your foundation cracked,
Your picture ignited.
Forever lost, you yourself have ignited,
It was only the picture that kept you bound.
Lament for BeautyOh faint and distant glow so close and far,
How beautiful the paradox is a coercing reminder
Of the simplicity of the dry wood.
And the bark of the trees-old creaks tired,
A monument in the hot ash and embers,
Even they could not fall.
Instead forced to look upon the grave,
One thousand distant dreams shattered,
And lonely wails will cry on yet.
Oh great city home to the nymph,
Bird, and great Pan, charred and fallen
To its great enemy.
It is full of the smoldering reek of fresh,
Warm, thick blood, still wet upon the canvas.
Never meant to be cover't up.
But ash prevails, soot brimming
Into an amphitheater of what remains,
Animals burrow through the black.
Cancer of the scorched earth,
Eyes can barely grace with the fatal glance,
Beauty has withdrawn from this place,
Familiar becomes forgotten.
NightOn black wing'd horses thy approach,
Nightmarish carriage from blackest depths.
Into the heart to strike fear,
Among men, the fear of life, the end of light.
And hellish fiends of Styxian realm,
Minions of Shadow, knights of Pluto come.
To steel thy breathe cold hard trickle,
Like beaded dew, the frost, upon thy neck.
And from thy eyes vision stole,
End of sight, sanities farewell.
He only dates broken girls.I will destroy you. I will
make you love me
without even trying;
you’ll love the scabs
on my knees, the bruises
under my eyes, my
singed hair. You will love
the rush of holding
my hand as we cross
the bridge; you’ll feel
like a hero each time
I don’t jump. You will buy
me chocolates, the most
expensive, to guilt me
into eating. You will buy
me seeds instead of flowers,
to give me a reason to
get up in the morning. You
will make me dependent,
even as I feed your white
knight complex. I will destroy
myself, and so you,
and you will know why storms are named after people.
ReflectionI want to sprinkle a piece of me
Into bit-code hoping it sticks.
But no one cares about the truth
Unless it's funny.
And I've lost sight
Of what that is;
I've been taught that it's all relative.
We're all irrelevant in the end
And so, the fire that use to burn in my heart
Is all Charcoal. And I've been trying
To see with no eyes; to drive with
But now I know I want to melt
Together people's 90 degree angles,
Until the world knows everyone's rights.
I want to melt together the distance
That separates prose and poetry;
Fact and Fiction; light and darkness.
While You Were SleepingWhile you were sleeping
to whisper about you jealously
in their tiny little chain gang
bigger, badder, better.
While you were sleeping
their undying bond of friendship
and every face hardened
sadder, snider, solid.
While you were sleeping
conspiracies rose and fell
with your breath
and They rustled with laughter
more, malicious, mayhem.
While you were sleeping
Cancer shoved over other kids
in the playground
and took their place
suddenly, so, scared.
While you were sleeping
you were overrun
and we can fight it, of course,
with artilleries in the arteries
we'll, wield, weapons
but while you were sleeping
they took a misered,
into tumultous, tumourtuous, laughter
as you lay undefended
and they captured your heart.
Dead or alive?I feel numb
Is this death?
Or am I still alive?
If I'm alive
I shouldn't be
Because death is better
Than this cursed life
The Horror StoryMy horror should turn to grit that chokes the rusting cogs of passing breaths.
It should sneak into crevice and corner until each pirouette of a clock hand crunches
a desperate death rattle into the mid-December hysteria. It should.
I want my terror to ooze into the machinery of existence and permeate the iron.
I want it to coat, and coax wheels off their axels as my mind spins out of control.
The whole world should grind it's internal organs like black pepper. To a halt.
The stars should feel the chill of my desperation and slide sluggishly down the sides of the sky
dripping burning nitrous into our eyes that in turn melt out of their sockets.
I want every subatomic particle of life itself to suddenly stop, mid sentence.
This is the way the world should fall apart.
This is the way the world ends. This is the way the world ends.
Not with a bang but with a resolutely maternal voice, strong as gravity, growling "Cancer."
I want the world so still that I will see the traces of the dead le
Ignorant WisdomThe best of us die young
We are blood and body
Mind and muddled matter
That decays from the very air
Necessary like an addiction
Our eyes are skin and sinew
Senses intaking a surface
But to the machine of faults
What is there lost to us?
The best of us are of will
As what will be passed belief
The demanding of subconscious
Edicts of the soul
Then why do they die?
Why must a will be severed
When it drives our existence
All that there is
And will ever represent us?
Why do vessels feed the muscle?
Bones hold up our legs
And a head with strong neck
That its aspirations rise?
The best of us accomplish
Tasks of a higher calibre
Like a barrel of the cannon
One volley into the stars
They undertake with all motive
And lose the unwinnable condition
For through their demarcation
Revitalize our weak hearts
The best of us die young
Because they are not us
And remind us what we should be
Through the greatest league
Of history's lessons
They sacrifice their chance to live
As watcher of the
coming of agethere are parts of me
you can still hear
on the radio;
at first, you'll mouth
the words, but you
won't be able to tell
if the static touching
your ears rests in
memory, and memory alone.
my love is not leagues deep.
you'll always be the one
to decide if i'm worth standing
in up to the ankle,
lukewarm and lapping,
or if you'd like to sleep
beneath my shores, miles
below discernible life.
the long lesions scoring
the belly of my pride
have scabbed over,
and trust me when i say
i clench my fists upon
remembering those who have
bruised me in the name
of disgust -
trust me when i say
my teeth are bared
and i am snarling,
the blood from past fears
staining my lips.
ImmuneYour poisonous words
The ones you throw at me
Useless they are
You can't hurt me
You can't break me
It's beyond your power
ursa minor, maybei've realized that the only reason i have ever returned here
has been because of you.
these paths we walked over and over again
still barely bare the imprint of our toes.
you've been gone for
close to forever, i know. but still
i lay here where sky meets sea and stare
at the stars you will never reach.
it's kind of saddening to see that you will never be the
infinitely remembered cancer, orion, gemini;
fame is not meant for everyone. you taught me that.
once upon a time in a land broken long ago,
you told me that the wicked never rest among the living.
with quick feet i had thought you were talking of yourself, a wanderer, runner.
now i see you only ever spoke of me.
my feet have blisters.