GlassHow different we are,
My equal and opposite.
My ways and yours,
A contradiction to the definition of species.
We lack the same common route,
The one that bonds us alike.
Alas, where have I gone wrong my son,
You have wronged, or perhaps it was I?
The facets that I once designed are warped,
Is it hate that drives you to dismember our ties.
To think that we bleed the same,
Now I think you do not bleed, only breed.
And your breed is hate,
The hatred that courses through your veins.
A volatile river that rivals Phlegethon,
And yet you only fuel your hatred.
So lift up your plowshares,
Recreate your weapons.
My hope was lost,
S Glass
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Ode to the WhaleTo hear your cry,
Oh great mammoth of the black-depths,
Is to hear Melancholy sing her Ode.
Nothingness, simply pure serenity
Upon the void of Joy.
And to hear man's mimicry,
A sharp reminder to this world,
That man has captured it.
Beast born from great Steel,
Old and dead, its cry is nothing like yours.
For even after the last among you die,
Your cry is forever etched upon the tread,
Dark hidden water.
As echoes, your music forever will play,
A waltz for the Ages of old.
And for man's recreation:
Alas it like man will rust,
And it like man will die alone and empty.
For Gilded Steel and Cold Iron
Are weak in the battle Ode to the Whale
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DemocracySoft echo of the child of the trees shatters the silence,
As a man so tired in age is brought once back to World.
Bitter and creaking is this man, no longer pride youth,
Rather in winter of Age, soon to lay in peace.
And World only pains him, his vision is not blurred but true,
The power of his crystal eyes, cut through the smoke.
And soft child echoes to shatter the darkness,
As woeful mother brings to feet in sheltered cavern.
Where milky tear strides from face only to splash,
Dusty skin, old and forgotten like the mahogany of ages past.
Eyes dry from the flood, no longer sight in the darkness,
Blind perception leads on to d Democracy
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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. Night
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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,
Lament for Beauty
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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. Flesh
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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
Moonlight Ride of the Horseman
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Sta.sh
