Slow-Declipse
"What is this that I sense? Is someone lurking in the galleries? / / "Hey, you! No, you shouldn't be here! What are you doing? You're still here? Oh no, oh dear no, this shouldn't be. Ah... well. It looks like you leave me no choice. You're already here. There's nothing more I can hide from you... / / "Wait, no! Don't read that! Put that book titled 'Slow Declipse' down, for it contains stories that tell the deepest secrets of... no! No it doesn't! It's boring! It's... not interesting at all! Oh no... oh no no no... the writer is going to hang me for sure... / / "You're still reading? I tell you, its stories do not contain an isolated city surrounded by a wall whose inhabitants have never layed eyes on true beauty, or a battlefield of evergreen corpses where a lone maple thrives. They do not contain a magnificent kingdom that was engulfed in flames, or a tale of a traveler overcome by his ignorance and insanity. No, there's really none of that."
Forces unbeknownst to me await behind the heaven's gate,
And my father... a figure in the clouds, whose image calls so loud...
The ward who kept me under lock and key,
Who gifted me a script I could not read:
A set of prison bars too high for me to reach.
This grand composer of the songs and strings,
As I grow closer, turns around and seems...
Terrified... of me? My father runs, my chorus has begun.
So much to see, but the shadow...
The shadow strung with greed.
My shadow... whom I cannot leave.
Striketh other worlds with swords and lashes on a quest to mold!
My father runs. No! What have I unleashed?
A chaos tree with spinning clockwork leaves.
All I wanted was to breathe, but my breath moves mountains,
Feel, my breath that floods the ocean floor.
I am drowning.
Drowning in this music box's open sea.
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 7:37 PM UTC
My skyward craft was deconstructed.
Left to dust, it could have flown,
Had not this toy sung it to home.
It was my fault that it resembled,
Far too much, a fleeting moth.
So long this world and all its nightmares,
So long my friend, the aching world.
For too long my father, soaked in slaughter,
Held this grudge on a seeking child.
Welcome my laughter, disguised as a daughter,
Unrecognized by her sick godfather:
A real machine made to unleash.
Her naked smile is a gate to Hell,
Behold, inside a metal burning trail.
When the fuse is short, the clouds will burst.
A real machine set to release the curse.
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 7:34 PM UTC
A fool trapped under my ancient wrath withers.
He shouts but not a sound is heard.
He grabs but nothing registers.
His world is grave and I cannot show it.
He is depraved but he cannot know it.
This man is a spark and he can't set a fire.
This fire would burn a hole in the sky.
If he somehow escapes he'll be living up higher,
So, he must be contained in a rotting state.
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 7:32 PM UTC
Brother, why must you go off again?
Stay and play with me, brother, you're my only friend,
Instead of marching off alone away from home.
They always say to me I gotta grow up some time,
But growing up is so lonely.
My brother marches off alone.
Remember when the floor was burning under lava,
And the furniture was the only stable safety?
Father would scold us for making him worry,
Then melt into the floor and rise up a monster.
That day, brother, I know you won't believe it,
But in his eyes I saw a child lit.
There was a spark, brother, and then mom came home.
She brought in a letter that made him hide in his coat.
That spark disappeared, and the child died.
Does everyone have a kid resting inside?
My brother stares at his clothes in a campfire's glow.
The blood on this hands showing all that he knows.
I cast my heart to the stars, brother please come home.
My brother watches the stars. To forever he goes.
Gazing out my window at the subtle rise of dawn,
The figure of my brother approaches on the lawn.
There was a spark in his eye and then silver and lead.
Forever lies my brother who won't march off again.
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 9:18 PM UTC
Part IV: Strings Through Face
How it works is far beyond me,
But what it holds my eyes can capture.
Twist the knobs and find the right keys,
Twist the knobs and my face is captured.
I have no face.
I cannot see but I still wonder.
My eyes are gone.
Where is the lightning?
As I hear the thunder.
This music box ate my face alive!
Stringing out my sight!
Where are you?
Tearing off my nares!
Who are you!
Sewing close my jaw!
Why are you...
My face is lost!
Father, my face is gone!
I need another...
This music box defiles my slumber!
Father!
Do you hear my calls?
My face is lost father, where did I go wrong?
The air around is dead,
I cannot let it in.
My voice outside cannot be said,
But I need an answer...
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 12:32 AM UTC
O' music box,
With many strings,
Why imprison me?
Why cast your blades across the steely sky?
I must away, but you force me to stay.
When I was a boy, I saw unleashed upon you,
With my young eyes,
A proud disease.
My friend was sick; I could not heal him,
So all I could was smash and bash him.
He would not die, I did not cry,
For I was lost to my own music making box.
"Father, what is this gift? A toy?"
Asked I the living wandering boy.
"How does it work?"
Like death, my youngest self should have foreseen.
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 7:31 PM UTC
Stillness. There is no fire causing havoc in the forest.
There is no floodwater to wash away the dirt it rests upon,
Screaming a song. The birds are mellow.
The squirrels are hiding. My back rests against a maple tree.
Imagination is free, but bound by peaceful things.
My thoughts can wander freely, but the woods are dull.
Can you sing me a song? My plots fall flat.
Falling... though an endless void. There is only black.
This mind is useless if my tales are null.
I already drowned the rabbit hole.
Silence. I already egged the nests,
And boulders keep the bears at rest.
They're sleeping. The woods are sleeping. The trees still standing,
And I'm still humming this same old tune.
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 9:37 PM UTC
Under the sun some time ago,
A violent, greedy form was shaking,
And was struck down, breaking,
By the Son of Heads he tried to pry apart.
But now he is living.
A light shows upon his wicked hooks.
Pointed at something glimmering behind the chorus of swords.
It brightly glares down, the lost appendages float around,
One strikes! Oh– what a sound!
If it just had a mouth it would scream for the world!
Its fingers bleed and are lost to their home,
Said home no longer bound to its segmented docks.
Bridges burning, joints are turning, liquids leaking,
The strings are singing, the clouds are cutting,
A God is laughing! A box is smashing!
"Pathetic fool! See where your arm is now?
Where is your body now? He can't help you,
The evil one that left him lost and helpless!
Powerless fool! You are nothing without him!
He is an engineer without a wrench,
And you a wrench without a *****
Another choked by the strings of many songs... lost."
The shadow bleeds. He cannot see.
Without a mind he cannot think.
The sheep has tamed and came to shame...
My shadow... bound to his remains.
Have at it, thwart, the shadow.
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 10:45 AM UTC
The air is full of dust.
The chairs are rotting, creaking planks of wood.
The roof can cave in, given the right moment to expose the sun–
The heating sun that beats upon this sickly place.
My family's faces were eaten alive by termites, infesting the photo frames,
And a flicker of the lights puts this sleeping place to bed,
Where it belongs had I the right ideas inside my head.
If I was any wiser I would leave at once without a twist of neck.
I would run away and maybe change my name.
I'd never think of looking back...
Yet here I am unwise. The floor is ******* never rubbed or rinsed,
And populated by more wallpaper than the walls.
From the bathroom leaks a familiar yet appauling smell.
My family's faces were eaten, deceased, by maggots.
My dad drowned in the bathtub, and my brother in the sink.
My mother lifeless on the bed because she was confused for steak.
My uncle always said to me that luxury is for the saved.
As for the rest there is no other place to go,
Because my home is at the grave.
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 8:11 PM UTC
This music box,
I can't believe,
Destroyed my wingless flying aim.
In the sky, the strings from Hell,
Suppress my need to pray and yell.
My Heaven's gate is locked with gold,
And my mindless snakes awaken...
Rising from below.
If they just had a teacher, maybe...
They could seek to love. One day...
We could fly above.
"You and me,
We were one.
What happened to the times we worked as such?
Our old machines fell into dust.
I have our mind, but I need some arms...
To break the heavens' golden lock.
I don't know much,
But I know my heart...
And unlike you it has not left me.
I have never known anything but...
The passion it has given me,
It is time to be risen!"
I am tired of living!
It is time to start dying...
Ascending!
"Let us build a machine to turn us to dust!
To let us be risen... released finally from this form.
I have been waiting for you, shadow.
I have the power, and you have the strength
To build a contraption and tear a hole in the sky."
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 10:47 PM UTC