It's the sound of radiation
from a television with no
volume.
Flashes of white rousing
a black sleep...stripped
of image in the depth of
essence.
The heart comes clean
when there's nothing
left...but that which, that
which.

A creature of the night
gazed down upon the world,
stricken by the sights,
aghast at all the pain.
A leap,
a scratch,
a screech,
a flap
membranous wings unfurled,
a flight upon the clouds once more,
is all that could remain.
'No need for me', for easily
fears had reached their peak,
a relic of
a bygone age
when cellar doors would creak.
'Man can make his own pain,
the need for I no more,
below the glen, I'll go again,
like we have once before.
But come a time,
when mankind,
can with themselves peace keep,
from out our dusky homes we'll crawl,
and chaos we will reap.'

The light makes my eyes drop,
The heat makes me weak,
My ears close to outside,
And fill with songs of sleep.

My hand becomes my pillow,
My chair becomes my bed,
My eyelids, now, my curtains,
As stars light up my head.