Flux, 24 february 2012
The siren whirled passed the ear
Contempting in flurry care
Yet never have it to declare
What truly lies beneath such fear.
And rightly so! Do not reveal
Such horror, and drama, and mindless - ordeals.
Herein deny the existence of such monstrous - things.
Dare not tell nor read past stolen wards.
It's crime, they say.
When they look into the eyes
And whispers float in each other's ears
That who shalt know and commit such a sin
Shall face retribution
In its highest decree.
Crime! They say.
Accusations stolen the surprises
When asked to give prove that life has no reprises.
And then here and now
Say, who declared such laws?
Of broken mandates, of social disorders,
Who shall damn me
Of unforgivable sins?
That said; broken voices chime in to kiss
Nought compassion, of losses left to demise.
Stolen the gazes of confusion,
Such fools, they are. Every one.
Who kneels to the naked king
In an even naked kingdom
Under the 'guise
Of golden throne rooms.
Shallow is Life
Yet Deep is the Mind.
Though we prefer to stay in clear waters,
For it gives us a sense of comfort,
And here their lack of will
Shall replace the filled,
But only ever so imaginative.
Is it from another cruel place?
Crimes! They say once more.
What threatens the social disorders
Will once more rise together
And declare war on those anarchies.
Foolish - Foolishfoolishfoolish minds.
Shallow and short and slain by swords
Never to explore the vast treasures
Because they call it Devil.
Dismissive of all unsymmetrical,
We are such that narrows
Down to the straws
Stuck in plastic bowls
And cups, and mugs, and jugs.
Flux, 5 february 2012
Then, the sky is drawn.
Like a curtain
That baffles the stars.
We hear not the lies
Spurt from the mouth
Of an uncouth death.
But lest, could not have known
That the most unlikely can
Find ways to torment those who know naught.
And when we do find the fly caught
Entangled in webs forbidden and unknown,
Leap, and strangle it, in depths of the slain.
Led by emotions that keep us,
As it may been for years,
Who can know when to strangle
When know not one who can tangle
With blackness, nor with whiteness,
For those who can have long abandoned their causes.
Fear the stars, my loved one.
They scatter so far, but dangerous still, they are.
And we should not let our guards down.
One mis'step, and the drapes will close down.
Flux, 4 january 2012
Fate. Funny thing, cruel cruel strings
Brings one to private sacntuaries,
Havens for lost souls, bathed in glories
Forgotten by war, whispered in the den of the night.
Then it tosses the one from one side to the other
LIke ragged dolls unused by masters.
Oh lovelies... You forgot how cruel she is
And you forgot how generous she can be
- If she should wish to reveal herself.
Her kindness is not your's, nor mine, to keep
But longs to be treasured like no other.
You forget her benevolence
- Her light in the glow of day;
- Her shadows in the wink of night.
You also forgot to understand her, nor did you love her.
. . .
Dear wanderer, your soul is no longer lost,
Heart no longer burned with hatred.
You are free of the restrains put on you when CHAINS
Were known to be the only currency
Bigotted.
By men.
Hands free to roam, and set out on a journey.
Th iron shackles
Broken to pieces.
But nay, you still not know
When the snow shalt drift down into sandy floors;
It does not mean end nor revelation.
She runs not on the edges of the mind
But only as an entity of continuity.
Tis not about riches, nor power, nor favored intentions.
Fate has proven all those wrong.
She is the mistress of deceit and a wheel of fortune:
Born to gift and die of gifting
- A never ending cycle of come-what-may.
It shalt not be fate that is feared.
The darker tresses...
Of. Your. Soul.
Hold more frightening wards for you.
Dear travellor, you are neither fighter nor defender.
Yet, you play the part and act the part - when she insists...
A part that is not you nor I should take on.
Bear arms, friend, she will not scar us.
Not. Upon. That...
Heaven will not allow her, nor the demons you so seek.
Oh follower... She is the Divine.
Let your steam be out of its kettle and let
Your fingers touch, foreheads sweetly kissed,
LIves slowly burning. Away.
Dear Lover... The world is truly mad.
They reject what keeps them sane
And invite that green-being that brings insanity
And doubt. And infidelity.
I spit these words in vain
For I fear... No treachery from what is fated for doom.
I careen to you, sweet tubes you cursed me with.
But never shall it burn me in her stead.
Misty fogs shall shield the world
Whilst her descent to aid and ail her love.
Gone be with you, evil-doers.
Should which be fated to?
Caress souls with nothing but knives.
Born to kill, born to slow-deaths.
The mind has worn beyond repair, as I attempt
To mend. The. Broken. Pieces.
Wanderer... You have gone far.
But never far enough.
Perhaps, it is time to retire.
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