#roland
Alone I lament
In a solemn black silence.
Butterflies fly by my workshop
Their wings impossibly quiet
Yet no matter how I try
I can't drown out the sound
Of the frantic fluttering and flapping of black and white wings
Of the butterflies in pain
Suffering inside my dreams
It's true that all living things are in due time freed
I suppose that's life's philosophy
Like those butterflies and their cries that are audible to only me
But it's the precious things in life that you want to keep
So for them, I'll chamber my sorrow
Fire out my lonely heart
Hold a funeral for the butterflies
And manifest my EGO again
So that the butterflies may fly
Finally, truly at ease-
Once more with the dead.
Dec 26, 2025
Dec 26, 2025 at 11:56 AM UTC
A thousand eyes do stare
They jest and mimic me
Their gaze stabs and slices my flesh
Like a blade of mimicry
The eyes call out
They say HELLO
But it's nothing more than the sound
Of thousands of tortured souls
When I say hello
They say GOODBYE
I guess those souls
Are as broken as I
After all, we're one and the same
The abyss and I
Because my ego has
NOTHING THERE
And the abyss has
A bottomless pit
Filled with crimson
And the permeating stench
Of the Red Mist.
Oct 20, 2025
Oct 20, 2025 at 11:25 PM UTC
I fall in love with possibilities, probabilities, and potential
You’re reality and the reasons to love scare me into a sleep
Dreaming of all the possibilities it could go wrong
I fall in love with them too
Feb 13, 2019
Feb 13, 2019 at 12:56 PM UTC
Townes crooning to my fevered head,
As I'm cast through a mindscape of love and hatred,
Shame and pride,
Sailing one great hallucination,
As if on a new rollercoast track,
Smoother than a ball bearing rolling across oiled glass.
Hooked by the hopeless story as it is told,
Of a curse laid upon those who have sight,
To see what lied in the fog and impenetrable,
Those vile machinations that they had laid.
Throat going dry as the mind burns and fills the burnt remains with cotton,
Time stretches out ahead,
A weight settling in behind the eyes.
The addict's words have such a painful splash across the airwaves,
it taking my fuzzy self a few moments that it isn't just Zandt's voice in the fray with a whirlwind of guitar strokes,
but a lonely harmonica,
That is his words droning through such a fabled instruments.
The walls warble with the tune,
The flag flutters into sight line as lungs are filled deep and shudder.
A controversial documentary plays as Zevon hammers upon the piano,
A crescendo of a warriors tale,
The old days of Rhodesia as it sung out like a beacon of the colonial world,
Right or wrong isn't my right to determine,
For I wasn't there,
Which brought back the last old guns of an even older world,
An age of adventures and thrills,
Unknown danger and reward.
As I think I settle back into the normal,
I look out and see only a half hour has passed,
And the fever is still burning strong.
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 3:00 PM UTC
as 'The Dark Tower' was King's "magnum opus"
it had an ending worth dwelling on.
and now he suffers over
not writing about Roland
as I continue to suffer over
having to write about you.
As if you were my "greatest achievement of an artist or writer"
I voluntarily chose not to move on,
long since alone under the covers.
I think back and remember when
you showed me how to forget lovers.
Yet as I practice the simple techniques
that you painstakingly taught me,
I can't help but remember
I'm trying to forget you.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 8:50 PM UTC
Ye are not alone
Hear me, If ye will,
For I too have become one of the last of my kind
And my world falls apart
Just as thine own
And though we chase not the same Tower,
They are but one
Yes, Charyou Tree, come reap
I too have given up everything for my Tower
And if they knew,
They would demand I renounce my precious tower
But ka like the wind
Carries me forward
And I believe you understand
Why I know
I will draw
My last breath
On the path of the beam
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 3:45 PM UTC