Ash in my mouth, with broken wings I wonder
On the ground ponder
Why did I
Fly
So close the sun.
For now traveled have I
From the blaze of sun
to the pitch black
Here I build my wings again;
To soar the heavens so so high.
So fellow husks
in the swamp of death.
Remind me brothers;
Don't try to fly to the sun!
again...
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 5:19 AM UTC
I smile for the last time
Mushroom clouds in the sky
I sigh in relief
it is all that i believed
Sunshine on my face
Warmth in my bones
It is finally here;
Atomic fire
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 5:14 AM UTC
I'm trying to figure, when did the first smile die on you face and
I'm sorry that I missed it.
I wonder when does the last do the same or did it already go; how long from that till your heart grows cold and we are both alone.
Even then I hope that under the cold ash does something still ember and we can blow them to a new fire.
Should that fire start it would brighten the days in front and keep us warm in the days of dark.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 11:58 AM UTC
The Cynic in me buries the optimist and the pessimist side by side, leaving the realist rotting on top.
What a dog I've become.
A hound to howl against hope; an advocatus diaboli for nil and all, but that's what I've become... that's what I am.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 4:24 AM UTC
Tho all we are all made from stardust, drifting through eons and life's.
It is your radiance shines to me like a blazing star piercing through the dust of tomorrow - the slow malicious dust that covers us in the distance of today.
I would run through the mist only to see you smile, but I won't for i could not assemble the shards it would shatter from the cruel now.
Yet i still long for your glistening shine and build a shrine in my heart so it will beacon us to union in wonders that be beyond the dust of tomorrow
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 6:31 AM UTC
Nothing can sooth the demons inside me, for I am the devil inside.
With my will the ill wind will blow where ever it goes.
Enemies, friend, strangers will be gone. I shall remain.
For my will will not let me go, in good nor evil.
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 6:16 PM UTC
Pulvis et umbra summus.
Omnis mundi mortalis est, temporis crescit
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 6:53 AM UTC
Tu non eterna est;
sed nihil eterna ad tu;
ergo non male ad tu;
Sil celerale mortalis, ante mors tu ad umbra ferre
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 6:49 AM UTC
Jungian archetypes dance on the strings of my consciousness,
they play rhythmic music inside the logic unit of my mind.
Some where deep in there a spirit wonders of it is the sum of its parts, bit more or a slave to my own biochemistry; Trapped inside the house of mirrors ever echoing the same.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 6:55 AM UTC
In the factory the Mother Machine makes love to steel and death.
One at the time, with mothers love, The Machine gives birth to the henchmen of death.
Each loved exactly the same amount.
Made from cold steel and microchips those grim reapers wander.
Seeking last remains among the anthill build from glass and concrete.
On the streets strong focused light cuts in the armor with ease and precision.
Weak flesh armed to the teeth is slowly dying, buying time for the fleeing Lemmings.
In the factory Mother smiles giving ****** births to the end of time.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 4:19 AM UTC