The crying notes tear my soul, the wailing of babes
crying without comfort, abandoned and alone on the
desolate emptiness of the plain imagined, stretching on
into emptiness and infinity, while the plaintive shrieks
of the dying infants, innocent in this world of simplicities,
life and death, heat and frost, summer and winter, kindness
and cruelty, they rise in the thin air, cutting across the silence
like jagged knives, while the demons scream in the tortured
vaults of hell, the spirits condemned groaning in their agony,
while above the vultures circle, lowering, lowering, down into
the screams of the innocent, newly cast onto the flat plain of
mortality and death, down, their great wings cutting off the sun
as their claws reach down, down to rend and grasp and tear and
clutch; to spill the fresh blood to gush and stream, and feed the hunger
of the earth, beaks rising and falling and rising again, rising and falling,
till there is nothing. Nothing, and nothing and nothing and nothing!!
And yet. Though visions such as these terror my thoughts and whisper
to me in my dreams of the inevitability of death and of the abundance of
pain, of the rightness of grief, yet I continue and yet am I strong, unbroken
by myself, unbowed by myself. And yet. The walls are crumbling. Stones
fall to be devoured by the empty night, while the eroding wind of pain tears
through my mind and casts down the towers of impregnability while the wall
groans and buckles. Soon it will fall. The pain will become reality, blood will
spill out from the black depths of my mind to stain the world, and the vultures will
begin to circle, to fall, to tear. To **** I will fall. Unless I contain these blasphemies of
thought, these profanities of my mind, I will fall. And death will claim me, and cast
me screaming into the black void of the empty night. And I will cease. That is all.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 5:03 PM UTC
The crying notes tear my soul, the wailing of babes
crying without comfort, abandoned and alone on the
desolate emptiness of the plain imagined, stretching on
into emptiness and infinity, while the plaintive shrieks
of the dying infants, innocent in this world of simplicities,
life and death, heat and frost, summer and winter, kindness
and cruelty, they rise in the thin air, cutting across the silence
like jagged knives, while the demons scream in the tortured
vaults of hell, the spirits condemned groaning in their agony,
while above the vultures circle, lowering, lowering, down into
the screams of the innocent, newly cast onto the flat plain of
mortality and death, down, their great wings cutting off the sun
as their claws reach down, down to rend and grasp and tear and
clutch; to spill the fresh blood to gush and stream, and feed the hunger
of the earth, beaks rising and falling and rising again, rising and falling,
till there is nothing. Nothing, and nothing and nothing and nothing!!
And yet. Though visions such as these terror my thoughts and whisper
to me in my dreams of the inevitability of death and of the abundance of
pain, of the rightness of grief, yet I continue and yet am I strong, unbroken
by myself, unbowed by myself. And yet. The walls are crumbling. Stones
fall to be devoured by the empty night, while the eroding wind of pain tears
through my mind and casts down the towers of impregnability while the wall
groans and buckles. Soon it will fall. The pain will become reality, blood will
spill out from the black depths of my mind to stain the world, and the vultures will
begin to circle, to fall, to tear. To **** I will fall. Unless I contain these blasphemies of
thought, these profanities of my mind, I will fall. And death will claim me, and cast
me screaming into the black void of the empty night. And I will cease. That is all.
Truth mixed with lies, lies embedded in truth, the light and the darkness entangled together,
inseparable in their opposition to each other. The Yin and the Yang. So it is here.
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