Monthly Archives: November 2016

The kings Walls Have Eyes

Why do the watching spy?
This question of the eyes
That congregate on the wall,
Who are they watching if at all?
“Their gaze is cast on those,
Who with violence would impose.”
Fools! The eyes are cold and cannot see
Into the hearts of you and me.
They grow from fear and it permits
A listener now to come and sit.
Now that the kings walls have ears as well,
Tell me,
What safety is there with such secrets to sell?

Dancing Into Dying

Shattered dreams in streams of light
Falling from dying stars in their delight.
One end of the universe fades away forever
And at its center, false hope while drifting into the never.
The nevermore befooled by those
Who into the cosmos would suppose,
Beyond an illusory dreaming and repose,
That one can find self in this shattered light?
Shattered sight and blinding fright
Are chosen not for favor bought
Falsly from an unforgiving reaper
Who take those sooner who wish for fewer for others and name the nameless night.
Abyss unto abyss and beneath this on your cheek a kiss,
For I’ll knowingly befoul the nihilism in my soul
For one hour of giving you my whole
Heart. Then while the universe around us dances into dying,
Hold me close and you I’ll hold closer flying,
Into that endless night.
Then there’s no reason that we fail to be
When eternity shall stand witness before us while we forever see.

The False Comfort of Drowning

Under water all her breathing
Isn’t impossible as it seems. Rings
Out echos from the sown
Unknown borne of the abyssal below.
Then once more to the darkened spires,
Her climb, her flight, her pain inspired.
Descent is this? To the depths?
Sorting through what memory’s kept.
Constantly trying to change inside:
The past; it’s long been fossilized.
So full of sorrow and full of stone,
She discards strength for gills so,
She hopes not for the surface and here,
At the bottom of the ocean it’s quite clear,
That she will never rise again unless,
She can rise to the surface and above this test.

Dreamer in a Dream

When the dreamer can only see what his dreams allow,
When the mortal can only be
What through their minds can plow,
The dreamer wakes to realize
That all his dreams may seem
Only what his conscious mind
Would safely want to see.
This illusion of a dream
And the night that takes us there,
The illusion of the daylight
And the waking time spent bare.
We are the makings of what dreams we see before fading into rust.
A dream within a dream? No matter. We’ll all soon turn to dust.