It is the essence
of all things,
standing here in
flagrant opposition
and calling ourselves
friends
And yet through
the fights and opposition,
there's the bend and
sway of latitude
where each word is but
a shadow on
emotion's battered
skull
Can you see me
as I see you,
here now within the
present moment,
underneath a sky
that doesn't care
whether we laugh
or dance or cry?
Can you hear it now,
that drum beat of
indifference,
threading through
the certainty of
footsteps etched
in stone?
Oh, these contrived
things we share,
and our sanctimonious
musings that
tell nothing and give
nothing but
the languish of
a soul deprived
And in these brick
edifices,
we would cling to
our salvation within
a solitary world
we need to believe
corresponds with us
There they are,
these moments
and damnable expressions,
cast like lots
onto the stage
where the curtain is
just beginning to rise
And if we were truly
honest,
if our truth was so
undisguised
then it wouldn't take
the very breath of us
to turn the other way
But a black hole
is mesmerizing,
the unknown is
a desired thing
for if you can
walk into those
darkened rooms,
you can come back
to spread the tale
About the Carpenter
who wasn't a Walrus,
and the Dark Man
who possessed light,
and the Woman who was
a ****** Harlot
yet somehow set it all
to rights
It is there,
you see,
in the rhyme,
the single rhyme
that tells the mystery
of this riddle
And I am only its instrument,
sitting down like a flute,
pressed to the lips
of infinity
and screaming out its
breath
And here's the part
where we rise now,
here's the portion
where we say "Amen"
and walk away towards
translucent horizons
and ebony dreams
filled with alabaster
musings written in gold
It's all symbolic,
you see
The alcohol of the
intellectual,
a summation in
a single stroke
of lines
So I can weave my web,
and you can weave yours
but the meaning,
that subtle meaning,
will be a secret to us
that's etched in stone...
Mar 24, 2010
Mar 24, 2010 at 5:50 PM UTC
It is the essence
of all things,
standing here in
flagrant opposition
and calling ourselves
friends
And yet through
the fights and opposition,
there's the bend and
sway of latitude
where each word is but
a shadow on
emotion's battered
skull
Can you see me
as I see you,
here now within the
present moment,
underneath a sky
that doesn't care
whether we laugh
or dance or cry?
Can you hear it now,
that drum beat of
indifference,
threading through
the certainty of
footsteps etched
in stone?
Oh, these contrived
things we share,
and our sanctimonious
musings that
tell nothing and give
nothing but
the languish of
a soul deprived
And in these brick
edifices,
we would cling to
our salvation within
a solitary world
we need to believe
corresponds with us
There they are,
these moments
and damnable expressions,
cast like lots
onto the stage
where the curtain is
just beginning to rise
And if we were truly
honest,
if our truth was so
undisguised
then it wouldn't take
the very breath of us
to turn the other way
But a black hole
is mesmerizing,
the unknown is
a desired thing
for if you can
walk into those
darkened rooms,
you can come back
to spread the tale
About the Carpenter
who wasn't a Walrus,
and the Dark Man
who possessed light,
and the Woman who was
a ****** Harlot
yet somehow set it all
to rights
It is there,
you see,
in the rhyme,
the single rhyme
that tells the mystery
of this riddle
And I am only its instrument,
sitting down like a flute,
pressed to the lips
of infinity
and screaming out its
breath
And here's the part
where we rise now,
here's the portion
where we say "Amen"
and walk away towards
translucent horizons
and ebony dreams
filled with alabaster
musings written in gold
It's all symbolic,
you see
The alcohol of the
intellectual,
a summation in
a single stroke
of lines
So I can weave my web,
and you can weave yours
but the meaning,
that subtle meaning,
will be a secret to us
that's etched in stone...