I have conceived the main ideas of this text on my way home from work. Had to rush just so I wouldn’t forget too much. Hopefully, I’ve managed to salvage plenty.
Have a gander!
Through the desolated crags
Lying under trembling peaks,
She seeps like fine wine through the cracks
Of a raven’s tattered beak;
And she treads the feeble bones
Daring to pollute her path,
She walks alone, she feels at home
In echoes of an aftermath,
In a chill secluded haze
Of delicate uncertainty,
In the moon’s alluring phase
Blessing her humanity,
In her strange enticing ways
She fights her own apocalypse,
In the way she speaks and sways
With those tantalizing lips,
In the way she haunts my day
Like dawn’s caress upon my eye.
…How she makes me want to stay…
…How she finds me when I hide…
I beseech forbidden knowledge
Dwelling in her imperfection
That draws me in and keeps me hostage
On a resolute direction;
And dare I dream of such a time
I’d walk with her undying grace,
When she’d learn to crave what’s mine –
The agony of my embrace.
Not my strongest piece, obviously. This is just me finding some semblance of dark lucidity after a while of cloudy wishful thinking. Sometimes the comfortable certainty of a harsh truth can give one the necessary will to walk right past all the disease festering beneath us. Beneath us, because that’s where they belong.
Have a go.
…And so the skies pour down no longer,
But the pulse is raging thunder
And I struggle and I ponder –
Will there ever be another?
Another morning’s estranged whispers
Simmer gently through my liquors,
Gouging my eyes out like scissors
To reveal the lonely thinkers.
And bound in faith like prisoners
Haunted by inquisitors,
They never speak, the listeners,
Of what is his and what is hers.
And I threw my severed soul
And my hatred made unwhole,
For I paid my cursed toll
A heartshattering thousandfold.
And my raging savage hunger,
All my lust and all my anger,
In a ghastly gasp they shape my answer –
There will always be another.
What is hers and what is mine
I no longer dare define;
I seek no more “how” and “why”;
I sold my venom for a smile.
Thus ends one of the most beautiful tragedies of my life. Hope remains that this has been but a chapter and not the entire play. The curtains have yet to fall, the ink has yet to dry – I’m not done here.
…So you think that you can cower
In the valley of deceit,
To lay waste with every hour
Till I kneel down in defeat?
So bare those little fangs, my dear,
Sharpen them across my skin,
Scream your sorrows in my ear,
Spell your suicidal grin;
Press your heels against my shade
And watch it slithering away
With the midnight’s calling fade
From this harsh and strange today;
Bury me with all the filth
Been festering inside your soul,
Sing to me my grievious guilt,
If that’s what makes your life seem whole;
Swim with me the sunless sea
In the wine’s penumbral plight,
Drag me down in cruelty,
If that’s what keeps you warm at night.
You taught me to evade my fear
And burn the temples of before,
So hold my shaking hand, my dear –
The world’s not burning anymore…
Absolutely terrible from substance to structure. A manifest of why one should never attempt writing whilst under a looming cloud of maddening anger. I wrote this for the sole purpose of making peace with my questions, but, more importantly, with my answers.
Feel free to tear it to shreds.
“The Losing Game”
Born from filth and cruelty,
I was lost and so I found
Myself in ambiguity,
In the hatred I was bound.
The mist turned ever damper
With the tears of my disgrace,
‘Til a dreaming grieving vamper
Carved a smile upon my face.
She found me in the corner
Of a mind I’ve learned to loathe;
She taught me to be stronger,
Lost amongst the gales of love.
So I lost myself in her
And I had no eyes to see
That my smile had grown to wither,
That she lost herself with me.
Once again my angel weeps
As it struggles and exhausts
And having sowed and never reaped,
I am finding myself…
Thought of the day!
By all means, debate.
Daylight seeps down through the soil,
I hear its mournful beckoning,
I watch existence as it spoils,
But there will be a reckoning.
Walls of iron, gates of stone,
The world remains stillborn unshaken
And atop the vacant throne,
Nightmarish Substitute Satan.
Submerging signs of mundane sight –
The beast’s surreal soundless slumber –
Fills a guiltless heart with fright
When the chains are torn asunder.
Things that once crawled now bear wing
And deathless gazes prowl awakened,
No limbs to dance, no mouth to sing
The sweet Substitute Satan.
Demons I have made and broken
Scream the vivid welcoming –
Ominous omen, towering token
Of the impending reckoning.
‘Mongst the righteous and the damned
Tainting this most glorious haven,
I remain mine, for I am
My personal Substitute Satan.
I’ve pondered this one throughout the day. It suddenly hit me and I had to remember most of it until I got home to start writing it. Rather glad about what I’ve managed to salvage.
When you sing your ceaseless song
In the cradle of the ages,
Time itself crawls down along
To see the spring scrawled in my pages.
You gave the birds their trilling tunes
And taught them how to praise the sky
And all that flourishes and blooms
Takes root inside your watchful eye.
Brought you this our mighty sun
To wash over the midnight’s gloom,
To make whole the walls undone
Of the fortress of my doom.
And the warmth lingers inside
Of the summer’s vessel, I,
Bearing burns to cure the pride
That I no longer wish to hide.
You drench the forests and the hills
With a pouring violent blue,
Divining all sketches and stills,
Exhuming the canvas anew.
And the tears that sate the fronds –
Weeping angels, falling stars –
They stream towards autumnal ponds
With the fury of our beating hearts.
The chill that honours my remains,
I wish that all the world would feel,
To learn to mourn the long gone rains
That fled for winter’s pallid steel.
And in this white and deathless sight,
In every flavour, every form,
Madness claims my ceaceless fright
And you turn my winters warm.
Spontaneous nocturnal reveries. Not much to speak of.
A longest journey to the Sun, fading star, penumbral path,
Beckons in a midnight’s kiss, gilded with the fangs of wrath.
I have longed for light that lingers, lividly and everlucid
In the twilight of my years, a veil upon winters translucent.
Calling to the many gods dotting my eternal skies,
I plead echoes of estranged tomorrows, to allow me to close my eyes,
For I’ve dreamed a thousand dreams in sickening sepulchral absence
And I wish to live once more that visceral and velvet violence.
The silent screams I’ve swallowed whole with the poisons of the earth –
A feast befitting underkings, demonic crows my soul had birthed.
To cleanse myself of depthless voids, the flames taught me to love and burn
And honouring seconds eternal, I’ve learned to teach myself to reach and earn.