Transcending Lies Betwixt Moments and Movements of Latters and Light
Silently moving creatures. They know the nature of my soul and use it against my very heart filling it with guilt and shame like snakes and filth of that which taints the very myst of my mind; twisting the tales of my past into sharp daggers that are thrust into my lungs and penetrate the air around me stabbing the hopes of my life to their own malicious fervor. Sorrow is my soul. It stirs and mixes with the turning of time. No time waits for everyone whom does not taste of its nectars and fruits. The juices of its loins fills my mouth with a hunger for more, pushing forward through the wooded briar tearing at my flesh and bone to cut away my heart beating through chest the very life that pains me forward through the darkest days and brightest nights. The shadows of their deeds are never forgotten though my eyes perceive them not past their firry intentions misleading me to the ends of time that which has lost me in its own suffocating nature. Their slime and stench fill my nose putrefying even the wretchedness that lingers at my back awaiting its turn. This sickness that penetrates deep within my belly and groin damns my laughter and binds happiness in soiled mysteries of mistaken calamity. Their fingers point to me in my hours of deepest sadness while tears of hatred filling my cheeks with the blood of sharpened talon and razor teeth to bite away what is left of their being, only fog remains to bare in mind deeds waiting. What irony of sharpened metal has taken my hand and thrust back into me to kill me once again fighting its way to the surface to drown once more fainting, turning, sleeping and darkening my soul. The demon behind the curtain grins the way of victory at my loss and sorrow. What choice is taken by my own sweat unprepared, blinded by the ways of misguided flashes and agonizing tardiness pushing and pulling my arm and leg torn apart in painful surrender muscle and tissue remains left to scavenge biting and eating of it taking of me my worldly possessions leaving behind only bleached bone drying in the sandy wastelands washing over strife. Crude weapons impaled twisted metals dirty red and brown that paint me over once more cleaning a place for pieces sanctuary divided amidst the deepest oceans and expansive pastures of sky and cloud. Backs and eyes are turned. My mind troubled as myth and fury fill my hands ingrained folly still reaching in mind steals my hopes and lathes over the edge of sanity with the right blade of prejudice. Struck down the pen where ink writes now only blood of my enemies turning brother against brother in fortuitous rhetoric melting bonds only lies keep still a delicate a breeze from whispers create typhoons against the soft-laden grasses expansive antiquity washing carefully away return through abandon and solidifying the deeds of those twisted creatures, malicious and clever never once being seen by steady minds to be lost forever behind the hand of the destroyer, judging, executing, smiling sarcastically mirrored deeds reflecting horrifying nightmares hell has created to ease its coming the revelation known, the tool the weapon, the deed carried away in sanded retrospect even time has forgotten, yet our scars itch in the searing sun’s glimpse timeless malice stretching through ripping written pictured suspects myst and wind where past taken by surprise takes shelter and lives breading its palette with the spices of living where lifelessness is partaken. The apple is waiting to fall where one stands firm, yet no hand reaches to catch the gravity simply naturally being as a tree in the forest of time, the motions of space are still and still the movements are too fast to perceive. Perhaps my eyes are waiting for those demons housed in my mind, body and soul to depart, perhaps they have already departed, perhaps they are biding their time. Yet now to know what time tells from searing scars neglected spirits’ hope arises swelling the tide of my dreams waking the mourning following my footsteps shadowing my movements in mockery. In turning, evidence presented entirely written yet forgotten in the light of the news of war where this skill needed once more taken from my hand and used against me to dissolve every inch that even the tides of red can easily wash away into the depths forgotten.
Name:
Anonymous2008-07-11 22:13
So? What did you guys think? It's a bit different from my ETHEREAL poem, but still has a hint of similar descriptions.
I sorta peered into my mind after watching "IMMORTAL" that old french/italian film about the pyramid in the sky and Nikopol's poetry, that's where I got some of my ideas, though they are a bit strange as usual. I am still trying to figure out what I wrote, but it's pretty interesting...at least to me, that is. :P