I had this melody ringing in my head for the past two or so hours, so, naturally, I had to take advantage and do something with it. This is what I could come up with.
We are the heart that shatters the cage,
The raven that spits in the eye of the sage;
We are the blade that severs the soul;
Misguided we are, alone and unwhole;
We are the leaf beseeching the root,
Cracking and cackling in grief underfoot;
We are the tear caressing the tomb;
We are the dead escaping the womb;
We are the thorn adorning the rose
Adored by a long and violent repose;
We are the dream of a devilish jest;
We are alive and we never rest.
I have juggled with some notions lately, trying to figure out some weight behind what I feel. This is the result of that.
Your feedback is greatly appreciated!
“From the Shadows”
Silent as the gales of time,
Speaking through my bleeding wound,
Leaving but a faded sign
Of a beating heart exhumed,
I have carved myself a way
Through the entrails of the world
And I found this strange today
In the image of a girl.
I woke in this nightmare vivid
And I smelt the rotting air
Rising from the demons livid,
Twisted in her golden hair.
Sultry was the shrieking wind
Paralysing me with fear –
Salty with a scent of sin,
Saturated in her tear –
And I could utter no more
Words out of my bleeding wound,
All that I’ve grown to care for,
Waring with a pulse presumed.
Though I witness with disgust
The soil withering my rose,
Unable to exist, I must
Relinquish from the shadows.
Twisting my forgotten arts,
I remain the silent seer;
And unlike the dying stars,
I remain forever here.
I had spent the whole day overthinking, so I thought “may as well write it down”. These are just some ideas spread chaotically in a formless format. Hope some of you can still enjoy it nonetheless!
In the dead of my serene
Midnight’s serenade unclean,
I have peered into the void,
Into heavens long destroyed
And I saw myself inside
Burning temples of my pride.
In a horrifying moment,
I have seen the dreaded omen
Shedding light upon my scars,
Twisted into words bizarre.
Seething was the scarlet sea
Aching to burst out of me;
Freezing was the salty sweat
At the sight of Juliet…
In the dead of my serene
Midnight’s terrifying scene,
Shivering out of my shape,
Crawling up a lunar drape,
I had sensed the scent of doubt
Screaming all nightmares aloud,
Louder than a dream can get,
Yet I could never forget
That gladsome and silent pact –
A laughter to close the act.
And now all that I can hear
Is the thunder growing near;
All that I can ever see
Is my own humility;
Yet my thunder skips a tune
In seconds inopportune;
And I lose my frail breath…
…At the sight of Juliet.
I wrote this as the fruit of a brief reflection upon myself in the past few months. A lot has changed, yet I remain the same. For good or ill, that is.
“To the Sound of Roaring Thunder”
To the sound of roaring thunder,
To the eyes that stared in wonder
I was brought into the world,
Heart in flames and lungs asunder.
To the sunless weeping noon
I awoke, never too soon,
Prying long forgotten eyes
Through the cracks within my tomb.
I had tread ‘pon many grounds,
I had heard a thousand sounds,
Yet no earth had piqued my lust
Like this world that I had found.
To my gruesome grim disgrace,
I had settled in my place,
With inferno in my heart
And a smile upon my face.
Here shall I suffer the world
In which chaos had been hurled,
With my demons and my ghosts
And shadows of my wings unfurled;
Here shall I submerge in slumber
Until I dream of another
Who would dare open my eyes
To the sound of roaring thunder.
This is nothing more than an elaborate riddle. I have designed it so that there is just one correct answer. One may disagree – if one would be so inherently inclined towards being utterly WRONG. One would, then, be kindly reminded that this is MY domain and these are MY rules. One is so silly. I am so sorry for one.
I am the madness festering inside my own disease;
I am the voices pestering; desire unappeased;
I am the presence shadowing where nothing still remains;
I am the laughter harrowing; the ash inside my veins;
I am the famished countless voids that still remain unwhole;
I am the gambled trust destroyed; the actor without role;
I am the sacred suffering of a promise broken;
I am the fearful offering to deities long unspoken;
I am the thirstful cancerous corner of my eye;
I am the echoed avarice of a fading “What am I?“.
This is just something I came up with out of necessity. Not my finest work, that much is certain.
Reeling wrongly ‘bove the right,
Fighting fathoms fearfully,
I’ve learned to love lingering light,
Clasping, claiming, clamouring.
Shadows shuddered shamefully
At the terror threatening,
Waiting, watching woefully,
Made macabre, maddening.
Now for naught naysayers narrow
Speak the ceaseless senseless song –
Wreathing worms that wail and wallow,
Reeling rightly ‘neath the wrong.
Beckoning blissful abatement
Hailing high from mental wealth,
Sinfully, it states the statement:
To each their own… and I to myself.
Slightly cryptic, but I believe it may speak to whomever cares to listen. This is yet another attempt to express the way I feel without giving out too many hints.
“That Is What She Is”
Like gleaming velvet royalty
Bathing in a thousand eyes
That hunger for the loyalty
She reluctantly provides.
That is what she is to them –
The starving snakes, slobbering fiends –
She feeds them every now and then
With a hint of the obscene.
That is what she is to her –
This creature, this zenith divine –
Speaking summer, breathing winter,
Unknown to the weak and blind.
Yet much more than song and sin
And no mere goddess is she;
The demonesse behind my grin –
That is what she is to me.