Not long after I laid myself upon the Earth,
I began to grow roots, suckling the green.

Before you knew it, they borrowed farther,
Far from me, crawling faster away.

To be so toxic, yet making myself at home.
I needed some good, to prune the bad.

As I gaze at the storm clouds rolling,
I wait for the rain, but not before the tears.

There is a bitterness, rotten deep within.
To be so disconnected, it is painful.

So I lay, disgusted with my own ruin,
Wishing the woods would cure me.

What a dumb little lie, who do I kid.
I will decompose with pestilence.

How dare I come here, how dare I weep.
But here I'll stay, a graveyard of grief.

Skyward gaze, flash floods
Rain comes hammering down
Third eye closes, defenses rise
Not from an enlightened truth
But from the mutilation of war
Waters rush, beneath silent footsteps
A thunderstruck race to the end.

A flame in the ominous dusk
Smoke rising, exhaled from forest green
Cinders flicker in the silhouette of the Oak
The wise Arbor God of this sacred plane

Inhaltion of softer days invoke peace
Contrasting violently to this portrait
A work of art, painted in wild hues of red
Ingrained roots swallowed in a blaze

This pen
This ink
Leaves paper trails
Ready to ignite
Eyes aflame
Words written in combustion
Fadinginto the wind as ash
Intangible

Ripples of Darkness
I tire, weary from the day
Nightmares sail forward
Through a storm of closed eyelids

Eyes flutter, dare I sleep now
Visions, lightless creatures
They call to me, more rather
I am sure it is a scream

Haunting me like absent words
The ones which I've buried
That creative self, once more
But we rise again, always

I let these spectres wail
Who am I to stop creation
Paint the horrific, vibrant dusk
And I'll admire this truth

One Thousand burning suns rain down from the heavens
To bring my worthlessness to light.
On a dying world with setting skies
This mere fragment of existence
Prepares for its demise

Stars break dusk
Swooning, empty tears
Shed in remembrance of time

Hands wither into the broken hour glass
Stolen from Death, with her sinister kiss

The bellows are ringing, the ancient apparatus sings
The bellows are ringing, and it is time to go home.

Down below, in the little mountain town
By the river the splits the east and west
I, heading out the door realize I'm far away
Sentiment hits at the liquor store
As hills once dead and brown
Have been reborn into lush greens
Realizing how much time has past
When I skipped through towns
Like a stone fighting to sink or swim
Things are different now, down below
In this little mountain town.

On a quest to lose myself
In a wilderness of disbelief
An unknown path to nowhere
Stumbling on the hidden roots
I was brought to my knees

Before a boiling frustration
and held back tears could overwhelm
the forest tendrils tended to me
A blanket of foliage became a womb
As a child, I returned to her

Standing what seemed forever
Above the canopies of trees
Lay a trunk of stone, worn
The marvel was magic
A fallen oak, which was life

The barren love, was feint
And she was still dying
Tending to her children
Even on the brink of extinction
We cried and I woke up.

A year ago, I resolved to write,
Everyday, no matter what.
Noble in my intention, to let
These words Blossom
But impractical in my imprisonment

Papers and parchment became walls
Which grew hungry and full off anxiety
True to the nature of my failure
I felt every bit of imagination die
The magic engine chocked out, rusted
With failed expectations.

However, this creative vigor, this
Impossibly strong passion, sparked
Life once again, as it tends to do.

So I resolve once again, to write
But only as the wind blows

As the extraordinary rushes,
So will I, to the pages.

Holy grounds whisper,
slithering thoughts of grace
and redemption.

Resurrecting fallen beliefs
from great battlefields
in the heart of my corruption.

Born from the darkness,
every verse is spoken sin.

The terror and serenity build up,
painful tears run down my bitter face.
The conflict pounds,
and pounds the drum of hate.

Fiendish facades mask intrinsic turmoil
of a broken wretch.
Fall to the light or
accept the path of the ******.

Lost in the footsteps
That brought me back
To the quiet field which
Still bares my impression

From days when the grass
Powerful and green, wrapped
Me tightly in its embrace
As day and night passed
Through the clouds above

I remember the blank expression
As raindrops navigated down my face
Sometimes I'd even shed a tear
For only the Wind would know

Seeing it now, brown and lifeless
I wonder how I was maintained
After all, I was the one who,
Abdandoned such sweet sanctuary

I pay my respects,
Get down and *****
Laying in the past
Dry eyed, wishing
It would rain.

All roads lead here, the Conduit says.
You cannot count the infinite paths.
To fathom every touch is madness.
But, brick by brick, time after time..

This place has written its own history.

How can it be so, in such a small plot,
To spin the tales of so many?

To be the grand hall of tears and joy,
misery and folly, hope and fear?

Who would we be without it?
How are we so bound to a singularity?

We must marvel at the commonness of it all.
We must marvel and be thankful.
We must marvel but not dwell.

All places, in all worlds are the shapers of creation.

These white men are sick
These white men are ill

Someone call the doctor!

Control. Control. Control.

I said hey man stop oppressing me
They said hey boy. we make the rules

She said hey man, stop legislating my body
They said hey girl, it's God's will.

He said hey man, I'm just making ends meat
They said hey boy, get that *** to work

I said hey man, your profits are from misery
They said hey boy, if you don't like it leave

She said hey man, I just want fair wage
They said hey girl, its a man's world

He said hey man, you stole this land
They said they boy, my rifle says otherwise

Someone call the doctor!

These white men are sick
These white men are ill

Control. Control. Control.

Wild winds wind the fury
Of fallen cinder dreams
Left in ashes from fiery gaze
Introspectiom sets aflame
Burning desires, mental empires
King of the ******, fiendish smiles
Crooked eyes and a fever pitch

I told her I was synthetic
A quick rebudle claimed
This was impossible, as
                
      I HAD EMOTIONS

Words have a way with my mind
They weave webs, twist and turn
Unwravelling to their roots
Then winding back into thoughts

I replied,
           How does one have an emotion?
           Are they something to be owned?
           Is it a possession to hold dear?

Anger and hatred can be harbored
In the hearts of the unfulfilled
But sunshine and a smile can,
Send such things fleeting

So to answer the question
Do I have emotion?

I understand the idea
I illustrate them with words
And words you know have emotion
The ink never lets them go.

The Times
The Tines
The Ties that bind.

Fruitful flower of misery,
Open you buds to the cold touch
Of Death.

No green thumb, just green with envy.
Sitting so sunny, in a field of falsehoods.

One slip, a skip, and a broken promise.
Have you, too, forgot the deal.

We are all stuck in the mud, so stick.
Live together, die together, no solo act.

So stop holding out, keep the pact.
Enjoy these moments, they'll be your last.

I saw it carved in the flesh of a dream,
"You're nothing, until you do it."
And is that not the truth.
For you no much more a writer,
until you have written.
Nor are you a killer,
until you have killed.

Things have changed,
And I know I shouldn't.
But it's already too late
My hopes, caught the tide.

What difference does it make,
Across the endless sea between.
Then there is time, which comes,
Take it as you see fit, and heal.

I'll hoist this flag, tattered and all,
Singing a chanty of foolish dreams.
Be well, think of me, as I was or am,
Into the dark waters, I return..

I have been tasked with consripting
Thoughts so wicked and vile, they
Are most certainly unnatural.

The transference from the chaos
Of the mind, to the semipermance
In written word is liberating.

To dive I to my madness one must
Understand, that the sincerest truth
That I have ever known is the deformity
Of self.

Every waking moment has been
A testament to the alienation of my
Own demeanor..but what made it tick?

I'm glad you decided to stay
Full beamed and smiling
Its morning now, the night has gone away
Yet here in this purple sky is the Moon
So happy and gay

Oh golly, its noon and here you are
Are you afraid I might miss you
When you returns to the stars
I'll be okay, believe me dear Luna
I trust when you're gone, you'll never be far

Dusk approaches, and you aren't in sight
Did you heed my words
I've not seen you since lunch, I hope you're alright
But of course you are, and I mustn't worry
In the darkest days, you are my brightest night

All of a sudden, I too
Must go, to the unforgiving place
Where judgmental eyes burn
Where wicked tongues lash
Where blasphemy screams
All of a sudden, I too
Must go, to the unforgiving place
My words breadcrumbs to Peace

Happiness
Measured from cheek to cheek
One end of my crooked smile to the other
A boisterous intoxicating laugh
A contagious obnoxious laugh
Measured, until it fades away

No laughing these days
No rosey red cheeks
No holding back

Happiness has been crumbled up
Thrown away, tossed aside, spit on
Grinded up, thrown in the muck,
Forgotten, abused, and abandoned

Anger. Honesty. Ambition.

Here they come with the swell
Casting themselves in dangerous waters
The only refuge for the drowning sea of faces

Sadness.
Measured from week to week
One end human suffering to the other
A vicious monopoly of hate
A sickening wildfire of inequality
Measured, until the end of days.

My heart of darkness grows
Screaming silently into
A searing white noise
Deafening any comprehension.

It envelops my chest
Pouring itself, washing over
Climbing and crawling
Weaving its way, ticking violently.
Scrapping at my bones
Begging for the light of those
Good natured innocent folk.

Waiting to reel them in
Infecting them with hope
Leaving only emptiness and blind hatred.

Spreading sinister vibes to new host
The thirsty for fresh blood
Never quite quenched.
I hunger for sugar smiled
Still beating hearts of those
Yet to suffer my hate.

Every torturous moment
my being presses, pushes
against body from
within.

Peeling back skin
Tearing away at flesh
Agonizing pain numb
to the pulsing, raging.
Failing at all turns
At leaving this
wretched form.

Cursing the Gods for
damning me
to this hell.
A prison of humanity
Maddened in a cell.

Desires seep through
poisoning the world
around me, toxic.
Radiating on the sole
thought to escape.

The naysayers will tell you to quit

The people who don't want change will tell you it is pointless

The opposition will ridicule you and dehumanize you

But remember this,
The fallen commend you
The disenfranchised
The ones who fought for rights they'd never have
The people who live in fear require you
The powers that be fear you
The leaders who cannot lead the unruly fear you
The poison of doubt is relinquished as you march

No change is easy, so keep marching, keep screaming, flood the streets with the voices of truth.

The land of the free can only be, when that slogan is for all people.

So let them mock you, but do not let them defeat you
So let them curse you, but do not give them your hatred
So let them doubt, but in return give us hope

The world is watching and we need you.

Violent verdant windows of shattered glass,
Sharp walls of flesh illustrate the oozing of lust.
Beneath the anguish of sillouettes and glammer,
Lie the wolf’s gazing demand for power.

Crimson crowns carry the stench of death,
Flowing deep from within the cavern of man.
The belly of this beast utters Hell’s Horizon,
A howl of sadistic victory and damnation.

Consequence is the Heart of Belief.
Whether a Truth .
Whether a Falsehood.
Whether Virtuous.
Whether Vice.
Conviction alters Reality.

Human existence is a stream of consequence.
Flowing through ebbs of Right and Wrong.
Of Heavy currents of deceit, which overflow the banks.
And pools of Stillness, in stagnant paradigms.

This Race of Fact and Fiction rampages.
The Powerful and the Hungry.
The Weak and the Proud.
All caught in the Tides of Creed.
An Undertow which swallows all.
Indiscriminate in its Finality.

The world falls apart at the fringes.
Reset. Bright light. Mind wipe.
Later, some time much later.
I have forgotten it all.
Only to remember.
A cycle of breaking amd mending.
A cycle of failing and reseting.
The rumble of worlds turn over,
More times than I'd know.
I feel the tremors, delusions or not.
But the heart of this problem.
The meat of it all.
Is this ****** door.
It's weathered, worn,
But resistant to time and change.
Beneath the creases of its ironwood,
Darkness screams forward.
Calling, crawling closer to me.
Later, some time later.
I remember, I open the door.
The Pandora's Box of mind.
My world crumbles, white blind,
Reset.

Enter the vessel of 7 souls
7 Names crafted in ash
Rolling off sacred tongues
Dead languages given new life

The name of birth
Holds tightly to its catalyst
Strained in attempts to control
The ravenous hunger within

Abyss, forged in the darkness
From the whispers in my ear
The madness of childhood
Concieved in lingering shadow

Fiendish, the evolution
Insanity fueled nightmare
Manifestation of suffering
The true self of the mad king

Demise, father's reflection
Usher to the believers
Tricked by the twisted tongue
Murderer of dreams and innocence

Pantheon, the culmination of experience
Succeeding former capacaities
Far reaching to the fringes
Double-edged sword of progress

Obsidian, the lost one
Drifting into the empty spaces
The black hole of emotions
Always consuming ceaselessly

Legion, flagship of infinity
The millions within the singularity
Transcend the medium and grow
Violently, invade my madness

7 souls
At war
At peace
Slithering in my mind.

I wish to write of softer things
Hands shake, hate in my veins.
Pen pressed to paper,
Red ink, scribbling empty words

Repeating, repeating, repeating
Hate, hate, hate

Heart weighed by tons
Baggage, carried, gathered, found
Books scattered across the floor
Unfinished, left open.

Struggling, I cannot
Bring myself to... move on
Close them, my library
Clean house, write a new story.

One day, these words,
Will find meaning, create hope.
Cleanse the monster, the one
Torturing  my restless soul.

She is my song
That sweet melody
Always ringing between my ears
I haven't the fantiest clue
Of the words that her smile sings

She is the true verse
Sending shivers down my spine
With honesty dancing as I'm mesmerised

She is the harmonic tune
Syncompating heartbeats to my best days
Hopscotch run around, I embrace the bliss

She is the rainy day playlist
Overwhelmed and under fire
Sit back, relax, listen, I've got my fix

I've not known the feeling

Nor can I even concieve

The notion of being whole.

Selling my brand months at a time

Interested parties holding auctions

Unaware, or unwilling to acknowledge

The stock in future  endeavours

So now I exist in 2nd hand memories

In the back of the mind, or the attic

Covered in dust, overexposed

A monument to my regrets

The liquidity of rage, swoons like a red ocean.

It is a tidal fury that rises, rises, rises.

Within its climatic ascension, exist an anxious torture.

Thoughts rush in, pacing on what conclusions will come.

These waves have come before, the carnage is extreme.

And while the destruction strikes the shore, the bastions will stand.

Ruin though, shall come, and each storm stands testament to that reality.

The walls will fall, and all will breathe a final sigh of relief, at the end.

I rarely hear the Trumpets now
The singing bellows of quelling sound
Which tame the Beast, I fear inside
His hypnotic trance, is a Demon's cry

I cannot see the Painter's wrath
Brushstrokes raging down forbidden path
Long forgotten, but forever known
His sinister smile breaks day when shown

I know not the Cinder's smell
The Kindling Madness of an ancient spell
Ash inhaled of perfect ruin,
His incantation of evil is brewing

I dare not taste the Wicked's Cuisine
Dark nectars twist the tongue of Fiends
Bellies full of Nightmare's tears
His fruition comes through pain and jeers

I reach to touch the Devil's Hand
Three of a kind and a master plan
To call the bluff or submit and fold
His reign begins, free will already sold

I am lockbox full of mystery
I embrace that every second

People come, inviting themselves in
Fumbling with their key ring
Ever so set to open me up.

People go, out the door with harsh words
Offended that I dared to guard myself
Always so angry in the end.

I want to spill out, to share my words
I want to fill your fantasies with mine

But the time it takes, is not for everyone
Don't go steal my secrets and end up on the run

When I fade away
By the cold grip of death
Clenching my conflicted flesh
Left only in memories and words

Take my body, the scars and all
Read them well, and sing my song
Life is a gifted lyric, a bittersweet muse
She wrote a world of wonder in my bones

There will be a time when you need me,
But I'll already be gone.

Flesh may be a measure of mortality,
However these words cut deep.

They carve themselves into infinity,
Scribing the rise, ****** and fall.

Each piece is a violent declaration,
Against the tides of hate.

While I could not wade in the water,
The storm of truth rains down.

Falling victim to fate and telling times,
All exits are crafted by these hands.

Symptomatic time bomb.
Deluded delusions of ethereal projections,
A dissociated self of severe sorrow.
Louder now, the crooning calls,
The malevolent mayhem of voices.
Sleepless nights, onset insomnia.
A refuge from reality is lacking.
Dreams sent packing.
Nightmares walk.
People talk.
And time offers no relief.
Crawling inside, fear growing.
Fiendish thoughts, lethal insanity.
Scribe away, transference of pain.
Words trapped between pages,
A book of demons, all of them screaming.
Bound by a spine of mental failing.
Fold the latch, turn the key.
Bury this *******'s tale.
Rinse and repeat,
With each rising defeat.
And pray the delay of further tells,
These fortunes of the lost amd the broken.

She fell without warning,
Time taking as it must, as it should.
And despite how the living grieve,
All exist to be taken, to move on

The histeria began,
Sister falls into a panic, foresight disguised as a dream.
Reality blends into inevitability.
The then was now.
Brothers stare silent, too young, too afraid,
And unable to escape their crippling fear,
That Death had come.

Her eyes, flickered as a fading flame,
Dying at the wicker's last breathe.
Her hands shook violent, as empty words poured through her head.
A son, me, the eldest, emboldened within this moment to take control.
She was leaving this world.
That much I knew.

But there exist that Dark Magic.
That abilities of the ******,
Aquired through years of suffering.
Not one's own, but the tears of life,
Gained from tormented innocents.

And such a power, in such a moment,
Was ultimately released.
Simple as a touch.
Death decays into Life.
She breathes, a mother returns.

Yet, I am burdened.
Weighed down by,
The scorn of my own corruption
Infused light.

I woke up in the Mirror World,
Came down with flu, overslept,
Was late to work, I picked myself up,
And managed, as I often do.
But it was all a dream.

This one's a tad too close to home,
Though slightly askew.
Not the first time, won't be the last.
I skate just outside this reality,
Bending to its happenings.

The consequences, the consequences.
I wake up, slightly before my alarm,
I don't oversleep, but I'm sick, I feel it.
And I'll go to work and interact the same.
Carryout a reflected conversation,
Of a world that was just a dream.

All of this, while holding on to sanity.

Free falling failures,
Plunging into the great unknown.
Soaring through the valley of despair,
Barren wastelands of broken dreams.

Old familiar faces seed hope,
Sewing powerful ideas.
Feeling so alive,
Lush forest left in the wake.

Far below the canopy of green,
Morning dew moistens tough lips.
The spirits enchant the air,
Singing songs humming with graceful booms.

Grounded, thoughts run free.
Places where magic over powers darkness.
Subtle vibrations swell, consuming
The wicked vines of negativity,
Once constricting loving hearts.

Sacred grove, private haven.
Blooming across the defeated ones.
Instilling a chance to cleanse,
Unbounded by the toxicity which builds
Into the honest folk who trusted a time too many.

Reason has returned; such a feat!
Due to the great philospher's tome.
Ever violent nature now, sedated.
What magic, of wise words & rthymes.

To understand, this is man's mortal sin.
Yet here, this draught of knowledge rings.
Archaic tongues riddle at the gait.
Bending words to dance to the summoners's song

The taste of vitality on curled lips, is the elixir of life.
Transformation ethereal in lifted spirits from common ground to sacred plains.
Open the book of spellbound fear, recite, repeat be freed.

Pour the painted words onto a canvas of self.
Let them overflow in a cringing nightmare.

Allow the darkness to be the backdrop of pain
Fill foreground with the light of life.

Feather the details of first love,
Between the fine grains of heartbreak.

May this portrait of vibrant existence,
Be all the suffering and joy it is meant to be.

In the valleys of mediocrity, complacency,
Cultivate brushstrokes of brilliance and wonder.  

The shades of blue sorrow, the reds of rage.
The green envies, the white serenity.

All of it, all together, the beauty of togetherness.
The good, the bad, and every bit of it you.

In ritualistic insanity, the amnesiac begins to wail.
He hears the symphonic tune of damnation.
A wicked chord struck on a lyre of bones.
As tears flow, the pain sharpens, his fingers split, adding thick crimson curdles to death's hymn.
The weight is bore, lightless eyes follow the ache of mortal fatigue.
This sad creature screams his terror, as he remember his ode.
Played from his own marrow, from his own calcified soul.

There is a devil inside of me.
An aspect so far removed from self,
It is so inconcievable, so impossible, and so unlike anything I could imagine.

Such selves sit in a sea of silent symphony,
Until the mania power trips into madness.
Then the screaming starts, the sad souls of infinite self, wailing their woes into every action and inaction.

But this wrongness, it has no tongue, no words of daggers. Just the mind numbing imposition of its own existence.

While it is in no particular way, its own creative, there are those of empathetic tones who transcribe its violent song into death hymns.

I sit a passenger, on a dangerous train, headed faster to hell, and I'm the devil inside.

The crusader drew back the hammer
Dangerous eyes looking past the barrel
To the fiendish man, broken before him
Behind the bruises, behind the mess
Helpless, his father lay before him
His father, the sinner, the fiend

He smiled a wicked but honest smile
Down towards the old man
Words would do no good,
For they've all been said and done.
The crusader was full of reason
Full of divine purifying resolve

But the devil, preparing his forked tongue
Between the sugar words and curses
Sought to utter some final saving grace.
Pulling back, squeezing with satisfaction
The lightning drew across the room
Thunder split the sinner right in two

Deep breathes, soothing his soul
The crusader inhaled the scent of death.
Too long it had been, far too long.
That such a fiend creeped upon the earth.
No goodbyes, no heartaches, just death.
He withdrew himself into the night,
Off to continue the reaping.

I decided to make council,
With the restless thoughts
Who so loudly impose their
Selfish will, stealing all sanity.

Mind goes dark, rekindled.
A chorus of ill, surrounds the hold.
Farther, at the castles court,
The loudest voices quarrel

Those of past, present, and future.
Essence of good, bad and indifferent.
Hands drawn with wild cards.
But no full house or flush to play.

They've taken notice, grins gone wide.
For the anarchist win, this game of pride.
An outcast falls, over and out the wall.
To scream the song of wanting.

Eyes open, light returns, palavar done.
None the wiser, but the time has come.
It works slowly, in effort's guise.
Rework the master, or meet demise.

I am all the magic I have ever needed.
I am this thinking, valid creature.
And while not every verse beckons
Itself to be the grestest.
It does desire to be sang.

Magic is poetry, it is the nature of the craft.
Words are cantations whick evoke emotion.
By my bedside, is my own spellbook.
I write whatever I wish to be and it is so.

That truth is as real as you believe it to be.
I bleed my own words, I suffer in their truth.
I become ecstatic, and at peace.
That is my serenity, my sleight of hand.
My magic, my fortune.

To be tethered to a lover is a dangerous game.
A cord of boundless strength winds deep,
Between the flesh and blood of the heart.

When stress rises in you, so too in I.
When depression grows within one, it becomes two.

And yet happiness too, does bloom.
Though not today, nor anytime soon.

We live on the fringe of happiness, my skinny love.

We live on the promise of maybes or never.

I’d sever the cord, if you could be free.
Though we both know that could never be.

This story has been written.
Now we play the parts.
We suffer in the moment.
We live for tomorrow’s maybe.
Time will liberate us.
So it shall be, so it shall be.

The bloom of creativity seems to be,
Wilting in the crimson soaked fields

Violent ammunition is seldom fruitful,
But I've been betting on the yield.

Before, I wrote of Masks.
Mutilated stories of written flesh.
A carnal retelling of misfortune,
In the pages I wore upon my face.

Now, I am just another Mask.
A solo sonnet amongst scoreless faces
Beyond them, a broken boy
Hostage to disharmony.