White Owl

I appear to be, of relevance, as you rain tears upon your pillow

Held tight, as if it comforts your reverberating agony,

That’s crippling you, in your extreme emotional distress,

Begging, for mercy, but who do you suppose will listen

To an empty plead, being made only at a time of suffering,

Backs you into a dark, cold and wet corner, forgotten

Until you reemerge, and all is but an early summer cascade,

Then you toss aside your promises, and rediscover your torment,

Which brings you, to where I’ve surfaced, out from the umbrage,

Although I remain hidden from you, high in the rafters,

Listening to your saddening sound, as its dying,

From choking and gasping at the absence of relief,

As it overtakes the melancholy, hovering over like a disturbance

Bringing forth, the unsuspecting demon, ready to sink its bite,

As you lay in the still ocean, with a ripple from a single drip

Awakens your cognition, only to find your gaze locked

On me, staring piercingly, through the grey surface

Right at the demise, creeping out of your prolonged agony,

I am your moment of clarity, your epiphaneal light

Which you find blinding you, from the crack in darkness,

Trying to shield the fragile demon, I swoop down and perch

On the edge of lost and salvation, and putting talon to wrist,

Pressure from my touch, exudes the overbearing venom,

No words, for I do not speak in a tongue, you can discern,

Just my wide stare, that pervades the heavy oblique,

Bringing you forth, and distracts the lurking monster

Long enough, to carry you out from the impending storm,

I am difficult to conjure, but when a mind is at its weakest, I appear,

How long you’ve been falling, is what determines my success.

Advertisements

Laid to Rest

A tiresome warrior, has finally returned home, unsure

Of how to live outside, of constant deafening chaos,

He softly ventures, through the shrouded solace

With his trusted chaos companion, sheathed at his side,

Gripped, with an unabandoned fury, and haunting paranoia,

There are enemies, all around, in the whistling trees

And the rustling fallen debris, slowly sinking into the dirt,

The horrified soldier, in sight, is the besieging eagle,

Ever watchful, of the cascading embers, dancing

Between the branches, carrying, the snug noose,

Tightly gripping the necks, of all those, lost to battle,

Drumming louder, in the abounding rippling wind

That carries, the ghostly whispers of stranded soldiers,

Blood, burned into his senses, seeing it blanket

The calm solitude of his surroundings, stained,

He slinks down, closer to inferno, trying to distinguish

The subtle shrieks, that are so uncomfortably familiar,

Resounding throughout the petrichor, a place of ease,

Is torturous, all he can envision, is the death soaked battleground

That he crawled through, for he’s still there, crawling,

Or at least, his mind is, entrapped by the chaos,

Pounding steel agaisnt steel, dauntingly reverberating,

Bringing him down to his knees, a moment running parallel,

Explosions of birds chirping, and red sunlight sprays,

He lays, in the fragments, of loose branches, and shrapnel leaves,

He has never vacated the field, on which so many perished

By the mighty swing, of his notched battleaxe,

After all he has done, he slowly slips into darkness alone

In the calming caress of nature, while every ounce of misery

He dealt, is plunged into him, unable to withstand the agony,

Nature notices his torment, bestows pity upon the suffering,

Grows its roots, into a concentration, of sweet embrace,

His pulse steadies a bit, his sight clears from the shadows,

And can finally see, the pleasant tranquil brushstrokes,

Everything is composed, as he feels it all dissolve,

He shuts his eyes, and becomes nature, forever dormant.

Thine Own Self

What feels like dragging an anchor through the sand

Is just a weary man, stripped, of his beloved identity

As he looks ahead, to the forsaken path, and dreadfully sighs,

With dissatisfaction, of how he’s traveled an unforeseen

And an oblique distance, he ponders, how one man settles

While staring intensely out, through the frosted panes

Into a jaded blist-full scenario, that no one emerges

As the valiant one, but dreams, of a momentous moment,

Only to realize, he’s simply contrived the impossible,

A floating barrel, brimming with an unstable psychosis,

Closely stalkingly him in the pitch black unknown,

As he pulls on the weight, that forces him still,

So he howls, at the glow of the full moon, nestled

In the falling overcast, shrinking from its absence,

A furious fray, rages on, in the complicated mechanisms

Carefully cranking, each gear shifting the other in place,

What might seem, like an unruly jagged jigsaw,

Is paradoxical, for this man scours the land of dormant giants

That at any moment, will awaken, to tear him down, crumbling,

Then in a panic, he tries to collect himself, scattered

And struggling to keep bound, each piece resistant

To the onslaught of his fever, hoping harden his malleable

Self constructed being, riding the rim of insanity,

Fearfully aware, of the beasts still hibernating within,

And once those disengaged fragments, stray past the valley

They will rise, and take control, losing himself, unabridged,

Married, to the distant trail, never again, fully collected.

Out of Sight

The station is swarmed, with rushing waves of robotic steps,

No one acknowledging the other, unobservant

Of the evil, amongst them, for they’re completely focused

On their own, selfobsorbed, face buried into their screen

That is constantly running, as they pass the chameleon

That doesn’t have to try too hard, observing the detached,

Why would the stampede, halt at his feet, or even acknowledge

His passive presence, that barely flutters the butterfly,

A tattered vision, tucked into the deep crowd,

He displays, their hideous nature, for them to peer

And gawk at, disgusted by his horrid stench that pervades

Their carefully crafted bubble, ignorant to the reality,

He revels in the convoluted entanglement, seemingly orchestrated

By the devil in his skin, but no one notices his enjoyment,

Although distinct, it hides under the world’s congested noses,

Out of sight, but deep in their minds, is the mass puppeteer.

Lost Out of Light

Art by Andy Kehoe

I shed myself, shaking in the hull of darkness,

I try not to make a sound, searching for the entrance

That will lead me, to the land of light, where it’s safe,

As for right now, I feel there are a million hungry eyes

Fixated on me, as I trail through the sinking land of shadows,

They know, I don’t belong, walking amongst the dwellers

That hide behind draped curtains, not from terror,

But to track my steps, waiting, for me to loosen

My grip, upon the sheathed dagger, battered and worn

It holds light, etched into it’s edges, a useful deterrent,

But how long will it protect me, as I’m surrounded

While I’m stranded, feeling out the blind emptiness,

The growling gets deeper, closing in on my wandering

Around the dark howls, seeking the distant gateway,

I’m lost, out of the light, mislead by the masquerade

That is parading in the treetops, gaining my full attention,

No matter where I find myself, I’m running parallel

To where I want to be, yet I’m spun in the dreary landscape,

Clutching tighter, onto the dagger, as my pulse narrows

And it gets difficult, to collect my breath, struggling

In the absence of clarity, settling in to the glooming clouds,

Hoping they can’t collar me, to tie me to the abstract,

Holding me just out of reach of light, with its glow

Nearly gracing my toes, a torture set by these dwellers,

They thrive, on the misery of light, and I’ve walked in too deep,

My legs, can barely carry me further, as the dagger slips,

Into the abyss, I stand upon, for anything that lands

Onto the same ground I’m lost on, also goes missing,

I’ve strayed, past the protracted, unsure, if I’ll ever locate

My way back, to the blended doorway, that I’ve traveled

Through on many accounts, but stayed close to the border,

This time though, I took a long tumble, down this hill,

Treacherous and unyielding, darkness, will always break

Those who harness light, upon their fragile chests,

So here I’m stranded, shattering, under the suppressing anchor,

Piece by piece, I’m losing myself, absorbed by isolation,

I wasn’t dragged here, I wasn’t pushed or bullied,

I slipped, crashed and lost direction, and now, I’m a dweller.

Gate Beyond Return

The sting from it’s breath, encapsulates me, shivers

Of daylight, highlights the mangled gate,

Displaying it’s villainy, slender arms outstretched,

Letting out, what I’ve fought to keep trapped

In the icy depths, only growing stronger, as I forget,

Wrapping its tentacles, squeezing around my throat,

Forcing my eyes, wide birthed, reflecting the monster

Before me, taking me inside it’s domain,

Past insanitys’ far gate, which no mind returns,

Every muscle numbed, as I’m dragged into the void

With my nightmare in the corner, perched,

Swinging it’s stinger like a pendulum,

Casting a shadow, as it passes, through the light,

Slithering closer, and then, emptiness,

The gate shuts, locked, with me behind it.

Blinded

Within her own mind, the world

Is exactly, how she left it, an eroded vessel,

As she became her own empty room, hollowed

By the revolting scenes, highlighted in the flashes

Of immeasurable detestation, and there she floats

Amongst the rubble, her hands stretched out, reaching

Beyond the veil of black, infiltrating the ghost,

Shackles upon her eyes, hides an unclean Era,

A design defect in humanity, a false prophet

For whom, they eradicate for, but who is this savior

That channels themselves into the facade,

Not just a glimmer of their virus, but an apocalyptic

Strain running through Pomplona, ravaging,

The earth, crumbling beneath her,

Tremors, surging through her from the mass panic,

Cries for light from those lost in the shroud

For her, to come and filter out the pain,

But she has absorbed too much, drowning

In violent waters, barely staying above her suffocation,

Until it all consumed her, trampled she still bears

All the affliction of the world,

For everybody knows, that a broken heart, gets blind.

Amongst the Living

She slips into the veil, picking out her outfit

Carefully, peering out from behind her mask

Taking in sight of her facade, her entrapment,

To lure the already damned, into the dismay,

The devil, finding the crooked outstretched hand

Searching for a glimpse of light in the stormy alley,

But only she bears shelter for them, inviting

Them out from the oppressive rain, and into the orchestra,

All the lost souls, sitting with their errors as the score,

The hum of the emptiness spotlights over their heads,

The devil peeks out, standing amongst the living,

Tapped the batton, for attention, and forced their scream,

Salivating, at the release of their fear, into the air,

She feeds on those floating orbs, absorbing

Their strength, sucking them all dry to ash,

Wisked away, with a gust of her whisper…

“You’ve been emptied”

And all those, who once were, shattered apart

Sprinkling through the depths of a continued fear,

While she, the devil, continues amongst the living,

Soaking, in the middle of the soon to be lost

On the ballroom dance floor, in front of the full orchestra.

Power

An empty throne, at the back of a deeply dim room
Simply occupies the splintered faith, tainted by doubters,
They chase out belief, within themselves, holding torches
To the light, that they say deceived their expectations,
The town has gathered beneath the throne room’s window,
Shouting death, of the praising rumble, now hear
The thunderous rebellion, falling on a vacant seat,
A runaway, finds their own way in masquerade,
Pass the hunters pounding on the door, an illusion
To them, as they herd together on the tiptoes of defeat,
The love that faintly drifts the halls, vanished in the con
Of the people’s hearts, and now fires erupt throughout,
The throne, still holds its ground, elegant in the dusk,
A facade, to gently brush them off the scent of their crowned,
But where is the powerful one now, that they were unveiled
To the rotting promise, exposed by the squawk
Of their own actions, that they fear to answer for,
An admittance to their own hypocrisy upon the guillotine,
The insurgents demand their blood back,
But still, they yield before an empty throne mocked by the raven
Perched, squawking at the broken, you will bleed for another.

Peace of Mind

The gate thrusts violently, locked, fighting to break
In the calm winter night, as a feverish chill bites,
I approach, slowly shuffling my steps, barely holding
Myself from trembling, for an ominous glow, spotlights,
Keeping my focus locked tight upon the grumble
Kicking up a fog, putting the world, behind blinds,
A narrow tunnel, that I should be running away from,
Why, nothing is being kept beyond the clanging rattle
But the phantom, craning out from the spreading myth,
A tale I’ve heard countless times, that I now sink
Into the words, whispers crawl up my spine of its legitimacy,
Claiming control over my consciousness, a cold
Grasp inside my chest, turning up the bass drum,
I drop to my knees, hoping it’s enough of an anchor,
I beg for it to end, as the fog comes in closer
And the lock, loses its hold, letting the gate creak,
Piercing my malleable skull, inviting the dread
Right in, as they loop under my arms and drag
Me through the gate and into the asylum,
Then into my padded closet, and finally the choke,
Nothing left inside my head, but the story
That had chased after me, and forever stalks
Me in the shadowed corner, until I let the phantom go.