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Duncan Brown Mar 2018
His soul enraptured in streams of beauty
Perished in flowing ribbons of aspiration
Struggling for the breath of pure eternity
Written on the water of divine inspiration
Gathered from life’s sweet finite journey
Into realms of undiscovered imagination
His heaven bound soul to earth was born
A nativity in the stable of purest humility
The beautiful guest amidst critical scorn
Struggling for life and liberty’s company
Penning those dreams that dwell forever
On the soul and flesh of living creatures
Delivered from burdening useless sorrow
Unleashed by realms of golden ****** joy
In deaths song he beheld a beautiful dawn.
Duncan Brown Mar 2018
The weeping folds of that woven truth
Hang beautifully plain upon a saviour
Scorned and scourged in purple cloth
Devouring breath in luminous colour

Crossed in pain on that wooden frame
Crowning thorns adorn his golden halo
Compassion hangs in tear filled shame
While women suffer in fearful sorrow

Pierced with steel and proffered vinegar
The driven nails a scourging iron trinity
Denying life with sourest wine writ bitter
Mockery upon a final wooden sanctuary
Cruelty impales our sweetest redemption
Forgiveness is our beautiful resurrection.
Duncan Brown Mar 2018
That abstract form in patterned space
Such a glossy shape of fatal ambience
Seamless as a renaissance masterpiece
A perfect camouflage of purring violence

Such is the guise of its killing insouciance
Everything within its finite seeing grace
Is infinitely absorbed by its arrogance
Fashioned fatal in vestments of innocence

This nine-lifed four-limbed feline deity
With the double brace of hearing vision
Multiplying itself in languorous proximity
Fading into landscape of distant singularity
The symmetry of the poet’s infatuation
A creature writ in another hands heaven.
Duncan Brown Mar 2018
The mighty lord of all creation
Danced through time and infinite space
Across the barren unlit heavens
Until he reached the chosen place
Where nothing moved and inertia reigned
A universe shackled to silent pain
Without a past and bereft of future
A world of sound unheard and sight unseen
His long locks shimmering with pure light
A threat to endless fathomless night
With a guitar slung by his left side
The silence stared and emptiness glared
And threatened death if he even dared
Disturb the nothingness with that sound
Or illuminate heaven with that hair
The player looked at the glare and said
“Suit yourself and see if I care
I’ll play this thing like you’re not there
That’s why I’m here an’ that’s why I’ll dare
And that’s why I’ve got this long locked hair”
Then struck that chord and made that sound
And shook his long locked luminous crown
Scattering stars across the empty universe
While guitar music filled the empty void
And luminous harmonies blasted ignorance
Like it wasn’t even there or anywhere
A veil was lifted and a leaden cloak fell
Light was everywhere and sound as well
And that’s a story that all can tell
Eden’s Eden but Rock ‘n’ Roll’s creation
An’ the electric guitar damns damnation
The Mighty Lord is a long locked player.
Duncan Brown Mar 2018
Moneyz da origami uv da wurld
Da foldin stuffz da lingo franka
Lubrikatz everyfink datz around uz
An smooves our movez to konshinz
Lukzuriating wiv our kintenmemt
Az da fillfy looker runz dis world
Yiz kin kall it anyfink uze likely
Datz wot reely matterz in da endly
Aint nun uv uz gon do wivout it
We’d be ’pensive at twice da cheapniz
Our kinsernz don’ stretch to poverty
In anyfink lik a personal kapazity
Datz uz da fortune of hypokrizy
Sez it again, nevva mind da ******
Show me da moneyz da rock anthem.
Duncan Brown Mar 2018
Clockertime is mechanical chronology
Clickering clackering on the timeline
Straighteningly narrow to a thin finality
Riveting each moment to the banality
Spot welded on the robotic personality
Marching along an avenue to a factory
Constructed in the mind by a psychology
Determined to destroy our human sanity
By the scientific perfection of a sociology
Crushing each soul by the party ideology
That labour is liberty and noble sacrifice
In the service of the party bosses economy
And the opposite attraction of capitalism
Are mirror images of that cruel iniquity
Chaining the human soul to servile pity.

— The End —