Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
There is strange comfort in knowing that
no matter what happens today,
the Sun will rise again tomorrow.
The freedom of the open road is seductive,
serendipitous and absolutely liberating.
At some point, you just gotta forgive the past,
your happiness hinges on it
Explore the experience, original and intelligently
Then Push Beyond
(I thought I had friends,
But when I die,
I see no-one there.
I’m hell-bound
Over being held down.)

I saw mankind going through life in a childlike manner
I saw saw them toiling, saw them suffering, and
becoming gray for the sake of things which seemed
to me to be entirely unworthy of this price, for money,
for little pleasures, for being slightly honoured
it’s something brought on themselves
Axel Jul 2018
For eons untold I have watched you rise and fall. Build empires and break them. Cure diseases and be ailed by them. I have watched you commune in many religious ways… watched you slaughter for your faith. Now that the darkness has dawned, finally I have come, soaring towards you.

As the farmer brings his harvest home, the librarian pores over long forgotten a tome, whilst the piper flutes a final tone. Echoes from my insides a most peculiar and maddening drone.
Too long soils you have stained with blood, bygone your time of breeding. Your cancerous race, your viral existence… Put out of its misery soon enough.

I soar, adorned in shrouds of doom and gloom, my wings blowing frigid winds and blotting out the moon. Unseen horror, hidden in the darkest nooks of your feeble minds. The stalking predator that lurks near the sheep pen. Crypt born from the graven mounds of a long stained and rotten memory. Ancient pillars carved for me, worshiping us.

No atonement can there be for the existence of human sin. Only to rend and tear your fleshy vessels. In a nuclear chaos confounded to the self-made oblivion, the blindfold to not see, the unutterable horror that is me…


If it makes you feel safe and sanctified. You will feel my leering gaze and gaping maw wherever you may hide. Sleep will creep upon you somehow.

Like in times of old, there are some stories they left untold. To prevent further damnation and total extinction, the worship of the gods of all creation. Floating in a sea most nebulous, blackened and foul, adrift outside of the play garden of time and space, there live things without a face.

The piping of mad flutes a harbinger of my coming, a blazing star to wipe the slate clean. Not even a faint echo will remain.
Go out while you can… Walk hand in hand into extinction as brothers and sister, opting out of a raw deal. The last midnight for the human race…

A cancerous vile growth that only thrives for our amusement…
A Simillacrum Jul 2018
The closest thing, I've personally seen, to the truth
is that I am fortunate just for the walls and the roof.

Everyone in the United States loves to *******
as they all try in vain to dissuade their innate guilt.

How much a better person will I become for
all of this good that I have done?

Corporations buy lakes to upsell life like
William Gibson thought they might.

Where is the sunset in flame through the eyes
of a younger Ridley Scott like we saw?

Let's start a fire in the heart of the woods.
Everyone will ignite, equally ugly.
Dance through the night with me.

What's your strain?
Would you care for some LSD?
We could die at any time, obviously,
So why not live up to the destiny
Implied by the monarchy?

Peasantry, peasantry.
Nihilistic pleasantry.
Peasantry, peasantry.

I used to think I was
Selesnya, Boros, or
Azorius, but now
I know that I'm a Jesuit--
Or something?
And so belong to House Dimir
Or to the Cult of Rakdos.

Peasantry, peasantry.
Nihilistic pleasantry.
Aaron LaLux Jun 2018
Can I tell you a secret,
I think you’re the most beautiful,
when you wake up with no makeup,
in my arms where you are held,

and you’re stretching and yawning,
and I’m purring an pawing,
and it seems,
that any moment without you,
is just time in between,
and I know this is hard to explain,
but do you know what I mean?

I mean,
you know what I mean.

I’ll make the work worth it,
come join this One Man Cult,
we can all dance in the sunset,
it’s our choice but not our fault,

nope not at all.

No denial without admittance,
not the government don’t keep secrets,
no espionage at all,
I’m an open book you can read it,

hey you,
can I tell you a secret?

It’s our choice,
but not our fault,
we can all dance in the sunset,
come join this One Man Cult,

thought that we were one,
until I realized we’re all things,

can I tell you a secret,
I think you’re the most beautiful,
when you wake up with no makeup,
in my arms where you are held,

and you’re stretching and yawning,
and I’m purring an pawing,
and it seems,
that any moment without you,
is just time in between,
and I know this is hard to explain,
but do you know what I mean?

∆ Aaron La Lux ∆

Venice, California; 2018
Oh poetry, grant me no greatness, no skill to outshine
any other artist, for humility should meet my own soul.
Rather, every act of mistake, character flaw, have each
unlived moment I experienced shown and glorfield in
the echoes of eternity. Poetry, provide me passion now,
for my Muse needs rest of teachings, reminding that
any act now, could be my last. I believe death is a constant
in thy life.
(knowledge variable)
It’s a delight to know the fear,
providing a loss of life. With
only the moon that wears
feathers from phoenix. Gold
drippings and arch of eternity.
Rebirth not from water, but of
soul selling to herself, in
innovation and originality. As
the others emulate. Starlight
allure, speaking languages
with humanities musings.
Waking the dead world, dropping
men to their knees as their
boyish behavior is pulled to the
front. Relinquishment of dogma,
as we all enter a new age.
As chanting songs in homage
to her. As no more tears to cry,
to what she avoided in the first
place, is attention from others,
pushing away romantic gestures,
conversing conversations, a
standard practice of life’s narrative.
Her, a silent twilight, alura of lights, glitter outside
from the in. A sublime way, letting go of her own
queenness, surpassing poetry and any narrative
of symphony. Thought ballet tried to replicate.
Belonging only to herself, for herself and none other,
than the chess game of mind, body and soul.
Musical actions, outgrowing sentimentality. Modern art,
portrait paintings, clanker's orchestra. Mystical
in fluid literature, writing such as these, potent poetic
prose. To where she won’t notice, nor even care.
Mother to art. Sister to romance. Regal without effort.
Harmony in thy soul. Because her breathe is harmony
in this world. Where this earth or matrix, perhaps
isn’t as sinful as I thought. (I repose from spells,
there is a belief in love and romance that sparkles
in this world as poetry.)
Any romantic art, whether it be poems or cinema. It’s an expression
of teases to those who hadn’t never experience. But a slap to your
face for those who had meet that one and fell into the fear of following
through. Now your friends are watching your back and you’re too
near me. Let all poetry now, scorn you with truth, moths eating dreams,
fireflies to taunt. Embers over earth. Haunting methods to be felt in
flowing waves of regret and despair.
For nobody likes the ones in love. Sparking questions of ‘why can’t we
be like that?’ After they gasped in awe. Burning candles. For nobody
likes the ones in live. Only love can ever devalue progressed work
and any else, held to the chest in sentimentality. Hopeless romantics
now a career path in the arts. Teasing humanity with their words.
Smile for me now (couldn’t help noticing your pain).
Next page