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BarelyABard Dec 2015
"I await a guardian."
Shrouded forms who wrench and weave the hidden things I can't percieve,
into twisted thoughts of rage and woe
which drag me through the flames below.
"I await a guardian."
Bony fingers who clench.
Macabre lips who **** to kiss.
Weapons of hunger, instruments of fear...
"I await a guardian."
Joy becomes a distant memory,
replaced with bells that clang and roar.
The light has passed the spectrum,
fading to a shade of emptiness.
Kneeling in the dirt with
hands across my face; demons mistlike in their flight embrace my sorrow,
their sweet delight.
"I await a guardian."
All I need, is hopelessly gone.
All I need is hope... gone.
All I need is hope.
All I need... hope.
I need hope.
...hope.
HOPE.
What brightness in brilliance through such confines of the black. Shadows cannot hide when you shine like the sun.
The brazen bells have silenced and the mist is all but clear, scattered in the lucent are abandoned tools of fear.
"I await a guardian?"
I have become the guardian.
BarelyABard Dec 2015
"I await a guardian."
Shrouded forms who wrench and weave the hidden things I can't percieve,
into twisted thoughts of rage and woe
which drag me through the flames below.
"I await a guardian."
Bony fingers who clench.
Macabre lips who **** to kiss.
Weapons of hunger, instruments of fear...
"I await a guardian."
Joy becomes a distant memory,
replaced with bells that clang and roar.
The light has passed the spectrum,
fading to a shade of emptiness.
Kneeling in the dirt with
hands across my face; demons mistlike in their flight embrace my sorrow,
their sweet delight.
"I await a guardian."
All I need, is hopelessly gone.
All I need is hope... gone.
All I need is hope.
All I need... hope.
I need hope.
...hope.
HOPE.
What brightness in brilliance through such confines of the black. Shadows cannot hide when you shine like the sun.
The brazen bells have silenced and the mist is all but clear, scattered in the lucent are abandoned tools of fear.
"I await a guardian?"**
I have become the guardian.
For those of you who care to look...
There may be mlre to this poem than you think.

I ask you.
What does "I await a guardian" say when translated to latin?
BarelyABard Nov 2015
Light invades my eyes and colors emit their voice,
inflections from the speech mount the beings in my dreams.
These statues sing,
they dance,
the effigies howl and weep.
An invocation to a cosmos from some chasm in the deep.

I listen in the morning when the sun has met the sky,
I listen in the evening when the moon has paled the sea.

I never can conceive,
but always can surmise,
the words which echo through my thoughts like starlight in the black.

Look at me,
within my shade,
at eyes who can believe,
a day will come when I
concede if purpose swims within these words so rapt in bemused secrecy.

Until that day,
I'll place these words, within your hands.

Which cascade through my gaping mouth and whisper through my yearning pen.

If perchance they shroud and haunt,
to crux the statues in your mind,
I'll hang them like a portrait,
by your fireplace,
where they're always yours to find.
BarelyABard Nov 2015
Those who understand have been consumed by noise.
We are crawling from the  shadow,
though seen as merely glitches.
An infection within components of a failing Great Machine;
a virus turning zeroes into laughter,
and ones into screams.
We are crawling from the shadow but becoming more than glitches,
a noise streaming from every speaker,
long after the screens have read
"Error, corrupted file."
BarelyABard Oct 2015
I have always told myself, if by chance one day I decided to say "**** it" and speed up up the slow process of death, the last sound I would long to hear would be the breathtaking notes of beethovens moonlight sonata.

In all my years of open ears, I still have never found so beautiful a mixture of musical notes.
The sad piano keys have always tore at my heart in ways I can never fully understand, but it never made me sad. In fact, it did the opposite. It made me feel so... alive.
I could feel my heart beating and my mind swirling at the emotion flowing from centuries ago. What beauty it had brought...
If i were to choose my own method of demise, then would it not make sense to choose the one piece of music that made me feel alive one last time.
BarelyABard Oct 2015
I'm not the man who met his dreams
with weary eyes and thoughts of grey.
The man who opened his eyes this morn'
is not the man from yesterday.

We live our lives encased in stone.
etching our names through woe and fear,
deaf by chisels wo scratch and slice
the only truth we need to hear.

Every day's a different path,
one you've never tread before;
every sunrise, wonders anew,
with stranger songs and open doors.

The only chain around your neck
is made of links you forge each night,
but with new eyes,
who crave delight,
perhaps dawn offers a different sight.
BarelyABard Sep 2015
Someone is listening in the darkness.
Gravity cannot contain our voices and the stars embrace every scream,
the galaxies every song;
a millenia of music notes and battle cries.

Someone is watching in the darkness.
Curious eyes at such a strange celestial blue questioning itself,
earnestly gazing in every direction.

Someone is waiting in the darkness.
Patiently listening to our feet tread ground we were once afraid of
with hopeful eyes  moving forward from all we thought to know.
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