My deepest fear is of you my dear no matter how near, your sweet voice on my ear, your laughter my tear. My world simply a sphere devoid of why we're here to steer, into the night.
I'm afraid of drowning in you, my heart like a spear in the deer which you veer to the pier on this, the new year.
And still I feel impetuous, I just can't help it, to climb the castle walls, to find you, high born lady of quality.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
Friday, December 13, 2013
How to die in a mid evil monastary
Small unfortunate child
I want you to burn down greed and Rome
From place to place and spread their hate
Then greed and Rome repudiate
Oh child cold and wet
Light the fire to bring you warmth
Get too close, you may find me
Or burn up and cease to be
Now child so fresh and new
What does it mean to you
To be done with life
because you knew?
I want you to burn down greed and Rome
From place to place and spread their hate
Then greed and Rome repudiate
Oh child cold and wet
Light the fire to bring you warmth
Get too close, you may find me
Or burn up and cease to be
Now child so fresh and new
What does it mean to you
To be done with life
because you knew?
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Sticky sit down on a subway
We see ourselves as who we want to be. Which distortion is chosen depends as much on you as it does on me.
Wind up the clocks then wind them down, then go through life as a jester and a clown.
But they say you can't make it on life. Get high get drunk just as long as you have a wife.
Don't speculate, stand up straight, and most important, don't deny fate.
Do what's right, don't fight. You're just wrong so find the light.
The light of half truths and deceit. All falsehoods that many believe, thanks, but I'll walk on my own two feet.
And when the heavens light with fire I'll stand tall in my spire to ignite your funeral pire. Persuade me to perspire, I dare you, live on wire.
Then when you're tested and found wanting I won't be vaunting my own past which you are now haunting pretending to be flaunting. Bodies of hopes and dreams which breath beneath you like a howl and all you do is fight off the growl which awaits your foul smelled deeds upon that thing you call your cowl. This sits upon your head like a crown, but how many have grown out of your hate and faith?
None, I say, none.
That withstand your glare, trapped in your lair. You say you love, that you bring the sign of the dove. But what have you done but make rip and gnaw and gnash and turned our world to ash? Then call it caring, returning occasionally to see how we're fairing. All the while not sparing your hand from the man whose bands wrap tight around the hand.
We are not slaves we are not drones but you would have us bend and moan. Is it lonely knowing you're all alone sitting on your throne? As the cold winds are blown and all your precious glories flown and none your children grown.
Wind up the clocks then wind them down, then go through life as a jester and a clown.
But they say you can't make it on life. Get high get drunk just as long as you have a wife.
Don't speculate, stand up straight, and most important, don't deny fate.
Do what's right, don't fight. You're just wrong so find the light.
The light of half truths and deceit. All falsehoods that many believe, thanks, but I'll walk on my own two feet.
And when the heavens light with fire I'll stand tall in my spire to ignite your funeral pire. Persuade me to perspire, I dare you, live on wire.
Then when you're tested and found wanting I won't be vaunting my own past which you are now haunting pretending to be flaunting. Bodies of hopes and dreams which breath beneath you like a howl and all you do is fight off the growl which awaits your foul smelled deeds upon that thing you call your cowl. This sits upon your head like a crown, but how many have grown out of your hate and faith?
None, I say, none.
That withstand your glare, trapped in your lair. You say you love, that you bring the sign of the dove. But what have you done but make rip and gnaw and gnash and turned our world to ash? Then call it caring, returning occasionally to see how we're fairing. All the while not sparing your hand from the man whose bands wrap tight around the hand.
We are not slaves we are not drones but you would have us bend and moan. Is it lonely knowing you're all alone sitting on your throne? As the cold winds are blown and all your precious glories flown and none your children grown.
Life of the lucidly indulgent...
If you could compound the mind into a single atom it would create a Universe. Not a Universe of physicality but of the self.
I'm mad.
When and where are irrelevant. There are infinite whens and wheres. Who is slightly more. We are dictated by social conformity. How is a question for those who search. Why is the reason we live, why is the reason we die, we are only why.
You try to impose on me all your random dispositions which really only are a reflection of you.
Talk in circles talk in squares only then is when and where, but angles isosceles and right are never truly far from sight.
Of eves to come and eves that pass, ride upon yon bonny lass, for tomorrow still to come undone by some unfortunate son.
Whose pire red and glowing stands from underneath the fictitious man and when none answers yea or nay to him I'll thank your earthly stay.
My friend, my comrade in arms is lost for none to have of flowing nothing but what is.
Then stupor and hate befell my gave upon a rotten unicorn. No true cure but stupor and hate.
Not hate of when, or where, nor why, nor how, but who.
Sulking back into neglect my present unbeknownst to sadness, grief, to suffocate.
Not only to asphyxiate, but drown a little day by day. To escort away my pain of hate, my own despair I cannot sate, of growing sums that dissipate, into my previous current state.
I'm mad.
Ad when by far and how and why, into the distance I cannot fly, for I am grounded here for now, to hurt, to seethe, recover somehow.
From this brain strange anomaly, of uncontrolled disability. Whose powers of wit and wisdom only curse me in vindictum.
I crawl from out my hopeless well, encountered by the winds of hell, whose fury knows no extent, whose demons pay no rent, into my angered heart are sent, and I to give them recompense, for all the pain in me did vent, and found my mind in two torn and rent.
My story is not what's been written, not of indulging in what's now forbidden. My future holds an awesome sight, and now my life's hardest fight. Ridding myself from this blight.
And still some higher power I do seek, even while the game looks bleak. Instead of riding it out just one more week, I choose now not to sleep. Lo' tomorrow will come and the day after that, it's not who we are but who we may become.
I'm mad.
When and where are irrelevant. There are infinite whens and wheres. Who is slightly more. We are dictated by social conformity. How is a question for those who search. Why is the reason we live, why is the reason we die, we are only why.
You try to impose on me all your random dispositions which really only are a reflection of you.
Talk in circles talk in squares only then is when and where, but angles isosceles and right are never truly far from sight.
Of eves to come and eves that pass, ride upon yon bonny lass, for tomorrow still to come undone by some unfortunate son.
Whose pire red and glowing stands from underneath the fictitious man and when none answers yea or nay to him I'll thank your earthly stay.
My friend, my comrade in arms is lost for none to have of flowing nothing but what is.
Then stupor and hate befell my gave upon a rotten unicorn. No true cure but stupor and hate.
Not hate of when, or where, nor why, nor how, but who.
Sulking back into neglect my present unbeknownst to sadness, grief, to suffocate.
Not only to asphyxiate, but drown a little day by day. To escort away my pain of hate, my own despair I cannot sate, of growing sums that dissipate, into my previous current state.
I'm mad.
Ad when by far and how and why, into the distance I cannot fly, for I am grounded here for now, to hurt, to seethe, recover somehow.
From this brain strange anomaly, of uncontrolled disability. Whose powers of wit and wisdom only curse me in vindictum.
I crawl from out my hopeless well, encountered by the winds of hell, whose fury knows no extent, whose demons pay no rent, into my angered heart are sent, and I to give them recompense, for all the pain in me did vent, and found my mind in two torn and rent.
My story is not what's been written, not of indulging in what's now forbidden. My future holds an awesome sight, and now my life's hardest fight. Ridding myself from this blight.
And still some higher power I do seek, even while the game looks bleak. Instead of riding it out just one more week, I choose now not to sleep. Lo' tomorrow will come and the day after that, it's not who we are but who we may become.
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