#frontman
The Wanderer meanders west,
Atop his horse,
Topping the dusty mountain crest,
Pulling his steed to a gentle stop,
To give him the moments necessary to process what he sees.
A great forest aflame,
A creature most glorious and terrifying,
Charging up mountains and sending up great pillars of flame.
Tidal waves of orange and red dash themselves upon these ridges,
Sending a mist of super-heated embers down the other side,
Beginning the process anew.
Great billowing towers of black smoke that roils and is in a constant state of flux,
Losing form as it ascends miles high.
Such beautiful and glorious destruction that could ever be seen,
An apex predator that could not be tamed.
The Wander turns his horse around and meanders back,
Changed from this experience,
The likes of which would never be seen again.
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 12:32 AM UTC
The heros were at a crossroads once again,
But a much different one from the time before,
This one was one where they had not been,
And one they would end up not all traveling along the same path.
The Drummer and the Bassist pleaded for the Frontman to see reason,
That the path he chose only would lead to ruin,
But with the spider whispering its words their pleas fell upon deaf ears.
It is here that the Frontman struck it out alone,
Feeling betrayed upon their refusal to join him on this path.
He was alone now,
With only the spider for company,
Too blinded to it all to realize the dangers upon the road he went.
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 12:26 AM UTC
As time went on,
The days grew long,
And the struggle for The Frontman grew ever greater.
Feeling adrift in time,
Without a map or compass,
The spider ensnared him further still.
It whispered wicked things,
Full of malice and hate,
Corrupting the Frontman wings,
A cruel arrow shot through him by fate,
A great gift tainted by the spiders poison.
Like a volcano that lay dormant,
For so long it seemed almost forgot,
But after too long it exploded,
The target of it all were those that were adorant,
Tearing asunder all that it sought.
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 11:51 PM UTC
Objective upon objective,
They stack one upon the other,
Higher and higher indeed,
Until a snag scrubs it entirely away.
A new stratagem was needed,
A long term goal to help better align the rest of your life,
But steps must be taken,
And too soon they always pile up,
And the stratagem must be cast away.
This continues onwards,
Farther and farther,
Leaving The Frontman awash in an ocean of grey.
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 9:56 PM UTC
Numbness spreading like a creeping wildfire,
Carrying heat along the wave's crest,
And that's when it hit,
Ideas spewed forth,
Everything was clearer,
Everything was bright.
The Trio were on fire,
Immortal in their success and youth,
On the rise ever higher,
To some their words were truth.
To be loved by all,
Their following seemingly limitless.
As was their potential.
Look upon thy creation and shudder.
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 11:36 PM UTC
A hiss as pressurized fuel escapes as a gas,
Fumes escaping into the atmosphere.
The crackling of steel scraping on flint,
The cacophony of sparks following,
A fountain of brilliant orange light.
The ignition point is a dark blue,
As one of the sparks finally ignite the billowing fumes,
Spreading almost instantly,
Eating up the latchkey mixture of oxygen and fuel,
Produced in such a violent reaction was...
a singular light
Its flickering warmth
Dancing across the winds as they pass nearby.
The heat deflects off cold steel,
And soon a change was being made.
The Frontman took forth the Elixir,
The gift of the very helpful spider,
Providing him a way to save that which had been lost?
The Frontman looked at the Elixir,
Multicolored & unintelligible patterns flashing through the post mortem aqua vitae.
The Frontman drove the cure into his body,
Hoping to fill the long bleeding wound in his heart,
Hoping he could just speak to them again.
Too late to realize that the Elixir was gilded,
That the game had been rigged from the start,
The flashing covering up the milky white venom,
And the cure?
A nail in the coffin.
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 3:55 AM UTC
It had followed him for most of his life,
Sitting patiently,
Waiting still,
For the Spider knew it would eventually get it's chance,
A cruel judgment bestowed upon him by the fates.
The Spider's legs were long,
It's beady eyes glistening,
Milky venom dripping from a maw of nasty little teeth,
Shivering with anticipation,
For soon it would be time to strike,
And then it would finally feast.
To our hero's who were celebrating,
To the spider they were completely unaware,
Hiding amongst the guests,
Some of them the Spider had been feeding on for years,
But now it was time for a new dish.
The Bassist had turned in early,
The Drummer in another room,
The Spider closed in on the lone Frontman,
Who defenceless and alone was introduced to his doom.
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 11:24 PM UTC
Their message was sent,
The people,
They had rallied,
And at the front of this force stood The Three,
They traveled far,
They traveled wide.
By now The Frontman was a full adult,
The face of a man you'd trust,
Well spoken and confident,
Ready for anything that could come.
Their faces we're everywhere,
Their voices and sound being sent on all the wires,
Bound for History were The Three,
The only factor was time.
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 7:37 PM UTC
The call went out,
The people,
They answered,
For it was something they all heard in their heart of hearts,
The outcry of "ENOUGH!!!"
Enough of the tyranny that was the monotony of daily life,
Like puppets on strings,
Or the marching on of drones.
The call went out,
Both far and wide,
And the people,
They answered.
In the blink of an eye the lightning flew across the ocean,
Flying far and wide.
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 10:59 PM UTC
The room was lined in foam,
Several microphones littered the booth,
Like corpses abandoned on a field of battle,
Grave markers of bands who came before.
Their hands sweaty,
Emotions tumbling about like clothes in a dryer,
As a small red light came on.
A lone guitar starts out,
Steadily rolling on as more and more instruments join in,
A vanguard to the symphony of rock to follow.
The Frontmans vein's bulging in his neck as he comes into the beginning of the song,
An outcry for those of like mind to join,
A rallying call.
Their sound was influenced by their city,
The Denizens of such a royal city,
Giving it an edge of steel as they tore into the instrumental,
Then suddenly a lull,
Only stopping long enough to catch ones breath, before it plunges back in for another round.
Ebbs and flows,
Until it is back to just the one guitar,
Destined to plod along alone.
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 1:19 PM UTC
The Three had been delivered into the valley of fate,
it was there that they were armed with only their instruments,
seemingly shrunken in comparison to the valley's reaches.
So it was here they marched on,
their Frontman blazing the path,
the bonds between them strengthened,
through their shared success,
reinforced by shared lows,
when the weight was equally heavy upon all their shoulders.
It was there that momentum was gained,
a confident crew that had just hit its stride,
with faces that hadn't entirely lost their boyishness,
their walks and actions, however, told a completely different story,
for these new up-and-comers.
It was time.
They had to create an epic of the histories,
They had to make an album.
Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 1:26 AM UTC
It was after the show,
That the Agent approached,
His eyes glinting and flittering with a wondrous glow.
He showed them that he had but a simple and loose contract,
A Retainership that would benefit both parties,
Of which they would agree to.
It was then that the Agent presented them with a significantly larger contract.
It was then that they realized what they were being handed,
Their way to a better life,
A key to a very difficult puzzle,
A planet taken from their shoulders.
They had been discovered.
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 1:15 AM UTC
The anthem ripped out from the Frontman, the Drummer, and the Bassist,
Making a sound larger than should be possible,
Their anthem ripped out through the old amps,
The music revitalizing the old speakers.
The Drummer hammered out powerfully yet precise.
His feet rattling off like machine gun fire,
His bandana tied around his brow.
The Bassist laying down a metronome-like effect to it all,
Notes swaying and dipping to the tune,
Flaring out occasionally to add more gravitas,
Showing he was still his own musician.
The Frontman declaring to the crowd of transgressions committed,
Of battles won and lost,
But also the views from the other side,
That the enemy may be man still.
A story of agony and anger,
Sorrow and Savagery,
With jubilance for the act of violence.
The Frontman's solo soaring high before axe kicking down upon the audience's heads.
The Agent was stunned,
His dropped drink forgotten,
As he reached for the payphone on the wall
The experience in front of him spurring him faster.
The Band continued,
Their sound crescendoing,
Coming to an almighty peak,
Only to begin it's decent to the earth,
Crashing down magnificently,
Down upon a dive bar in the run down part of town.
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 2:32 AM UTC
The Agent stood on the corner,
Smelling faintly of bourbon and stale cigarettes,
Loss and despair.
He was a rising star when he had started,
A keen eye for talent and shrewd in business.
But those times had long past,
For all he had now was the bittersweet yearn of nostalgia and just enough in royalties for a dumpy apartment.
A light rain started,
It's cold droplets stinging lightly on the Agent's reddened nose,
Irking him,
Beyond not just having a drink.
The Agent spots his shelter,
A bar just down the street.
As he walks in,
He shakes loose the rain that hadn't clung yet,
And shuffles over to the bar with hands shoved deep in pockets,
He goes and orders a drink.
It is then that he looks over to see a band getting ready in the corner,
It is then that the Frontman belted out the count in.
And the agent dropped his drink.
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 11:46 PM UTC
Their first gig,
Where they were headliners as opposed to being the opening act.
It had been a couple of months since they had formed,
And a couple of times they had almost lost their way.
But find their sound they did,
Improving all the while,
They had transformed into a solid opening band,
But no more,
It was their turn to shine.
5 minutes out,
The jitters were settling in,
The Frontman took a swig from his luke warm beer,
Trying to calm his shaky nerves.
The Bassist in the Drummer shared an amused look,
For they had been there before.
It was time,
The stage lights for the place burning bright,
And it is here that they tear into their first song with gusto.
Heartrendingly honest and raw,
For the Frontman it was a releasing of demons,
That held him back in the past,
Their hooks in our protagonist's flesh being ripped free,
The weight being lifted from his shoulders
The Frontman was finally set free.
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 1:12 PM UTC
They traveled together,
The passionate group of three,
They stop at a bar to catch their breath.
The Bassist was quiet quiet and aloof,
His lack of words offset by the weight of each one,
On the rare occasion when he'd throw in his two cents,
His sound was emotional and true,
He spoke without speaking,
With tired eyes,
And a half crooked smile.
He drank a Guinness from a clean pint glass.
Next was the Drummer,
Bobbing his head to a tempo only he could hear,
His sound and energy was like a locomotive engine when he gained momentum,
He would play through a ten minute intermission if let to his own devices.
His eyes were as sharp as a hawk,
Darting to and fro,
His expression of a not-quite-there-frown,
More of a look of constant boredom.
He drank some pale beer that was probably half watered down to start with from a dingy glass.
And at last we have the Man,
Who was now the Frontman,
With a well-worn guitar,
He was dedicated, but haunted by the fear of failure,
But fear can still be used to fuel a sound,
Adding an edge of importance to his words,
His eyes are closed, however, to better concentrate on the sound coming from the old and battered jukebox,
A blank face is his,
Indecipherable to even those who knew him best,
He drank a bottle of something local,
From a bottle,
With just a pinch of salt.
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 11:25 PM UTC
The young man stepped off the bus,
Pack of clothes on his back,
Guitar case in hand.
He decided to forge his own path,
In this place were so many had failed before,
Just another individual in the City of Angels.
His chuck's scraped the pavement as he spun around,
Trying to take it all in.
Quickly he found the city was but gilded, It's thin layer of gold covering the lead core underneath.
It got to the point where the young man had almost given up hope.
But steadfast he marched on, Accumulating like-minded individuals, And soon they stood shoulder-to-shoulder.
Ready to take the World by storm.
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 3:08 AM UTC
When the young man arrived into town,
his throat was very dry,
So he wandered into the closest bar.
It was dark and dingy,
But at the same time vibrant and alive, For a band played in the back.
Just a few younger individuals,
Vibrant and lively,
Rocking as if playing for sold out Stadium,
Instead of a bar of six.
It was then that the young man had his idea,
Notes rushing to him like cascade,
And the realization that music was where he was happiest,
It's what fill the hole in his heart.
He left the bar, knowing what he had to do,
His passion was reignited,
The flames fanned.
A goal now set,
Young man went to the bus station and continued West.
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 1:55 AM UTC
The desert was hot,
The boys feet ached,
His legs protested,
The sweat stung his eyes.
The young man stumbled,
The heat waves of the road throwing up a curious pattern.
It was then that the young man spotted it,
Just beyond the next hill.
He stood up,
Wiping the sweat from his brow and forged on.
The cedar had become an iron oak.
When he arrived though,
If only in fleeting flashes,
But still it was there,
When the instrument was in the young man's hand,
It calmed the storm that raged behind his eyes.
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 1:14 AM UTC
The pain dulls over the years,
As the boy becomes a young man,
And the young man decides to follow his dreams,
He runs away,
With only a guitar in his hand,
A backpack of clothes,
And his car,
He rides out West,
Like the pioneers who came before,
A musical gold rush.
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 9:51 PM UTC
As a youth grows,
Taller and taller,
Like The Cedars of my youth,
But also rougher and rougher.
To those who have known him from before can recognize him,
But to others he is a shadow of his former self.
There is however,
One thing,
That has ever remain the same.
With the instruments in his hands,
his eyes soften,
the creases easy bit,
The weight is lifted from his shoulders, And even a smile can be seen.
As he hears from the Allfathers of the Waves, Summoners of the sound.
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 9:27 PM UTC
Crash!!!!
As a boy regains consciousness,
All the boy can see is the blood mixing into the muddy water,
As the rain begins to fall.
The boy scrambles are round the twisted wreck of the car,
From which he had been thrown from,
To find the one he loved in terrible condition.
The boy begs her to wake up, but she refuses to open her eyes,
A small trickle of blood crawling up her forehead,
As she hangs lifeless from her seatbelt.
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 9:25 PM UTC
Driving down the road,
Going much too fast,
One hand on the wheel,
The other around the shoulders of the girl he was with.
They love each other,
At least they think they do,
Their adolescence making them believe that they'll beat the odds.
A turn arrives just as the boy looks away, And suddenly they're airborne,
Just as soon as they're in the air however,
The forces of the world take hold as the car comes down hard.
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 9:23 PM UTC
The boys has aged,
On the cusp of becoming a man,
Old enough to drive but not old enough to vote.
The child has improved in eight years,
The sound comes vibrant from the boy, Although it is still a hair twangy,
And the timing off just a bit.
He has passion,
Though,
Which makes the imperfections that much better.
The sound Echoes in on itself when it bounces off the cement walls,
And the closed wooden door of the garage.
All of the boy's work producing an emotional and raw sound,
Which flails about,
Enticing others to do the same.
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 9:13 PM UTC
It's Christmas time,
A young boy unwraps a large gift,
And sees the object inside,
It has a basic color scheme,
It's strings beautiful and bright.
The boy strums his small hand across,
Summoning sound from the hollow instrument,
It's a cheap thing,
Just in case the guitar is abandoned by the boy,
But alas a bond is formed,
And the boy's life is set into motion.
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 11:24 PM UTC