Edward Schall

Edward Schall Feb 2020

As musings they start....
Weapons of mass decay encased in whispers and smiles by incubi and succubi for an all encompassing neural maim,
Through hopes and dreams they slither,
Leaving grief, filth, pain, and spirit rending sorrow in their wake,
Putrid composers of the great symphonies of betrayal, and sonatas of aspirations razed,
Veins of femoral or carotid are ruptured to induce the swan song of our shells,
But the vein cerebral bleeds you until from love birds you hear only funeral hyms,
For the blood upon the sword is witnessed by all,
But shall never outweigh the blood of our souls staining the soil in our minds,
As is spoken, such is rendered....
Saieth the petty whisper.

Edward Schall Feb 2020

Love- A Song of Treble and Clef

It starts with song birds singing the highs of the treble,
How they fly so high,
In the sunlight's eye,
No worries bigger than a pebble.

Some bask in the warmth forever,
Yet some stare to hard, and the sun stares back,
Blind and scorched their soft down smokes black,
Now their songs fade away giving pain it's pleasure.

The static in their heads is the nausea of the soul screaming,
For they're hollow inside with nothing left,
Besides the low thud of the clef,
Because their hearts died dreaming.

Edward Schall Feb 2020

The Consciousness Canary

Do you hear the screams of the mind?
As it's forced to bind with a being infatuated with becoming another broken chord in the aria of time....sit still in your cage little mime,
With all the pain you've begotten while plucking dissonant chords striving to rhyme,
When you don the shade's veil and past the event horizon of the void filled with calloused entrophy you're forced to venture....Use your knowledge as a lantern, you have no choice now so you'll be fine,
A lonely penance provided by the ignorant wailing of the prison of rot where the spirit bids it's time,
By the hand of one's own or the frothing wounds of words and foes' scorn the husk always dies it can not hide,
Releasing the bird from it's cage to rise,
You can not **** the mind....it's energy ****** to suffer and live in sulfur with no way to die

Edward Schall Feb 2020

In the Blissful Haze

The memories roll by,
With haunting cold through the ethereal glaze,
Laced with poison whispers from beyond the Styx,
As blood and dirt assimilate to quench Pershepone's fix,
With fire flies he now strolls shrieking endless howls praying for a way to end these days,
As joyous children laugh and play on this exquisite day,
In the cradle of Autumn born of Demeter's tears,
In the blissful haze.

— The End —