With tired legs I began to reach it,
A peak who's view I haven't seen
For more than a little while.
I reach it's zenith and there I see
With the gaze of possibility, it's vision far extends the safety of the city and the wilderness in all it's hostility.
I'm jarred with what I see there on the side in which the sun peaks and sets. I see the plains and bountiful woodlands, roads that pull me into the great north with but a finger beckoning hither. It's a simple pull, but it pulls on strings bound to the very soul of a wayward son.
Behind me crested on an ocean of light so quickly fading now into a winters twilight. There lies a field of tar and swamp that I have climbed through and risen from. I still bear the putrid marks and shed the dying limbs of the marshland that held and swallowed my legs with ease.
A memory though but a moment earlier in relevance now seems so distant. For I am not bound anymore, I stand upon the peak where I can see the now golden valleys and bounty laid before me like a buffet cast apon a hungry traveller. And the light follows me down into this hyperborean utopia
I went down to the river now now, to see what i could see there.
There i saw a congregation, washing away all of their sins.
and away they sit on the surface of the river like thick black oil.
Their sins, they float out to the sea.
I walked on over, I joined the circle, asked them if it worked,
and if it'd work for me.
The people turned, and smiled wide,
I could'a sworn they told me
just to be polite.
But I could see it,
see the lies in their eyes.
They could see right through it, Right on through my disguise.
Cause they knew.
Yeah they knew.
I felt like I was the devil now,
Like I was the devil in disguise.
What reason do we have to be angry.
What reason do we have to curse the stars
and all the threads that bind them.
Who's fault apart from ours is it,
that this is the hell that we have placed ourselves amidst.
Every point in our lives,
lying like a checkpoint,
glowing like a streetlamp in the dead of night.
At the feet of these golden warm, welcoming lights there lay a crossroad.
And we foolish children feeble in heart and mind fumble without a further thought.
We follow our hearts and we follow them into deep into the disguising dark.
Adventure was the death of us, antagonizing.
Adventure was heartache,
agony as evil wizards warped our worlds until we were weaning.
It wasn't too late before the brazen ******* had burdened our lives with ever more brutality.
Wolves hungry for the hearts of men, walking on hind legs to better hinder us with horrors.
This world is beautiful with wonder,
but it's wonders are like lights
upon the Lophiiformes head.
Bright, beautiful and inviting
But lead with haste into the jaws of oblivion,
well hidden amongst the dark.
And then you realize once more that you are nothing but dust
collected upon dust.
And the hours draw you ever further from careless youth and innocence
and ever hurtling forward in space and time.
Forward to a bitter and cold end in a hospital bed,
with a selfish audience of your entitled children
and a wife whose love has now long since been replaced with resentment.
Welcome to manhood.
So you try hard to find a rush,
a justification for your existence in this modern world.
A world where you heritage is demonized,
your ancestors forsaken and insulted.
You take the lashes of the nine-tails with a smile,
you absorb it all the curses from the women,
Even though you hold no ill will.
You are a man and you are punished for your capabilities.
Deep inside you screams an effervescent rage
a rage that burns like the sun beating on the shores of albion
as your boots and blades lay waste upon the houses of lesser men
and your **** upon an undeflowered ****** *****.
You crave not the company of men,
but the brotherhood of wolves.
Someone I know quite well, went out of their way to convey their appreciation for me today. They claimed that I had indirectly saved their life this year through traits of personality. I have a habit of holding up a mirror and showing people their imperfections, trying to help them accept it. The seed is often planted at a time where it is bitterly accepted, but once in a while the flowers blossom and the sweet plant finally fruits.
The surprising thing is how it felt to be recognized for what I try to do.
Everyone walks through life surrounded by walls and masks, pretending to be some front-page face with some hollywood story. But the truth is we are just people, people who ‘want’ and ‘cry’ and ‘bleed’ and ‘beg’ to the same universal entity, in the stillness of our bedrooms with noone but desperation for company. We are people.
I try hard to make it known that I will not put up with mindless *******, lies and mundane trivialities. I try hard to say that I can clearly see all a persons flaws and imperfections like they are stars scattered across a clear night sky. But I want them to know most of all that the way I see them, they are beautiful and they are safe with me as long as they accept my knowing embrace.
Hearing the thank you was like a cupped handful of fresh river-water after a great season of thirst. Perhaps a matter of life and death.
Her dark eyes,
beaming and fair.
Remind me to that of a doe,
Pleasant but hiding.
Dark eyes whispering sweet reference to her darkened hair.
Her skin is sunblessed, but she's darker still.
With legs that steal the breath from my lungs.
She reminds me of a storm, crackling in the distance.
One that I don't think will ever truly arrive,
although i've tasted the rain, many times.
it never seems enough.
The storm left a time ago, but she has lingered ever since.
All of my crops died that year.
I've been begging for the sound that rain brings.
For she's heaven on my lips.