from Beautiful Losers.

God is alive. Magic is afoot.
God is alive. Magic is afoot.
God is afoot. Magic is alive. Alive is afoot.
Magic never died.
God never sickened.
Many poor men lied. Many sick men lied.
Magic never weakened. Magic never hid. Magic always ruled.
God is afoot. God never died.
God was ruler though his funeral lengthened.
Though his mourners thickened Magic never fled.
Though his shrouds were hoisted the naked God did live.
Though his words were twisted the naked Magic thrived.
Though his death was published round and round the world the heart did not believe.
Many hurt men wondered. Many struck men bled.
Magic never faltered. Magic always led.
Many stones were rolled but God would not lie down.
Many wild men lied. Many fat men listened.
Though they offered stones Magic still was fed.
Though they locked their coffers God was always served.
Magic is afoot. God rules.
Alive is afoot. Alive is in command.
Many weak men hungered. Many strong men thrived.
Though they boasted solitude God was at their side.
Nor the dreamer in his cell, nor the captain on the hill.
Magic is alive.
Though his death was pardoned round and round the world the heart would not believe.
Though laws were carved in marble they could not shelter men.
Though altars built in parliaments they could not order men.
Police arrested Magic and Magic went with them for Magic loves the hungry.
But Magic would not tarry.
It moves from arm to arm.
It would not stay with them.
Magic is afoot. It cannot come to harm.
It rests in an empty palm.
It spawns in an empty mind.
But Magic is no instrument.
Magic is the end.
Many men drove Magic but Magic stayed behind.
Many strong men lied.
They only passed through Magic and out the other side.
Many weak men lied.
They came to God in secret and though they left him nourished they would not tell who healed.
Though mountains danced before them they said that God was dead.
Though his shrouds were hoisted the naked God did live.
This I mean to whisper to my mind.
This I mean to laugh with in my mind.
This I mean my mind to serve till service is but Magic moving through the world, and mind itself is Magic coursing through the flesh, and flesh itself is Magic dancing on a clock, and time itself the Magic Length of God.

"Their lips tremble,
Like the strings of his guitar,
She is his melody for life now."

~rpan™

From opposite sides of the country, they both scream into the air
"I ******* love you, darling! And I know that you're out there!"

The wind selfishly eats their voice right as it leaves their tongues
Their echoes dissipate more quickly than the smoke from in their lungs

Their magnets then push them even further apart
She bottles her tears as he locks up his heart
Sitting with their backs turned from across the cruel planet
They try not to take what they both have for granted

But they keep throwing stones at the moon, spewing secrets in the seas
They keep tossing their tears in the sky and flicking their blood on the trees

Screaming their doubts to the clouds, and spreading their ugly disease



But it is no use
because in the end
when their eyes open
they'll always be alone


...left with words like these

Silent screams from self indulged diluted paradoxes casts a spell on the unforgivable lips kissed by the devilish characters dancing upon a grave settled by many.
Transparent silhouettes race to embrace their simple structures some unattended by close perceptions of love.
Drained from pupils an acidic remedy consumes the purity of the children laughing a bout.
Fists crossed in anguish pollute with devastation causing a fury manifestation corrupting innocence not so sweet.
Society speaks in vocal peaks damaging the mentality of not 1 2 but 3 million in one millisecond.
Yet no one believes how well proverty speaks.
Uneducated, unemployed disappointments most see yet the struggle at face is way more than ***** sheets but ****** hands covered in fibers of cotton that stained green.
Pity pity pity me no us no we.

AT ONCE!
And a just-forgotten moon
Splintered the frozen time sky
Airplane sewing machines
Pistol rock candy
Violent as birth
What is this night?
Chrome wheeled interjection
Sparkle studded sister
If there are clouds they are whispers
In the euphony of sights
Nebula rising
The horizon drowns
Settle it to say
Red eyes are waking
The forest burns with appetite
The fields are full of fire seeds
The shadow houses wink and beckon
The smile of thieves is on the cusp
Swimming the Black Nile
Hoping to be enough
The fiddler is spellbound
As the candid universe
Sings a Martian sailor’s tune

Say something, you’re not alone;
honey, I know the scars you hide,
aches and scares you to the core;
tell me how bad it feels inside.

The lost desire of existence;
those failed attempts of departure,
makes you feel numb and;
I understand the agony and torture.

Believe, I will get you wings;
and one day you will fly,
let go of what pulls you down;
honey, you’re gonna own the sky.

Faded memories that stab you;
God, it makes you paralyze,
all the decisions that you regret;
you thought but weren’t wise.

You see the dark clouds;
yes you have to fly above,
there belongs your sky;
your pleasure and love.

Promise, I will get you wings;
and one day you will fly,
shed off the weight of sorrow;
honey, you’re gonna own the sky.

© Shreya ♥

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-by;
And further still at an unearthly height
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.