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  Jul 2020 Syd
Kov Bog
White sheets covered the ruins of the day,
Nothing really helps when you can't run away.
Bombardment dashed through the trembling city;
Left under debris, buried in your favourite graffiti.

Tell me is it really silence that I hear?
I can't be deaf, your words reach me here
You could shout at me or whisper in my ear,
Believe me it is not the voices that I fear.

Not the voices but silence.
For SILENCE IS A CUTTHROAT,
A lethal murderer of words.
Devouring a budding thought.
It is just eldritch vacuity.

White sheets covered the ruins of the day,
Nothing really helps when you can't run away.
Bombardment dashed through the trembling city;
Left under debris, buried in your favourite graffiti.

Tranquility.
A word     fell into oblivion.
Tortured.
Taking away a piece from it
Every time a man kills a kid,
Every time a mother abandons her family,
Every time we declare war on another society,
Every time we make a mistake and try to forget it,
Every time  WE  WORK  AGAINST  THE  FUTURE  AND  NOT  FOR  IT!

******* Silence.
White sheets covered the ruins of the day,
Nothing really helps when you can't run away.
Bombardment dashed through the trembling city;
Left under debris, buried in your favourite graffiti.
******* Silence. // Non-existent serenity of a bygone society
Syd Jul 2020
Tess Park's lyrics
dripping purple lilac
they are the purest
smoothest
angels kiss

Fuzzy leather of
suede
coupling
silk & velvet
harmonic bliss

Softly
tumbling
topsy-turviness...  
Worries gently elcipsed

Viscous vocals
melding gently
with Anton Newcombes
musical genius
Inspired by the beautiful voice of Tess Parks from the song Fingertips
Syd Jun 2019
Words flow like worms
Swept along in the silt
Of murky river beds
No match for the current
And content
Of a cluttered unfiltered head

Moments perish like daffodils
Fragile to a stiff
Spring breeze
Petals turn dark to auburn
Permiated with jaundice
Depicting decaying disease

Ferrous dust lines lungs
Along with choking
Metallic fumes
Time ticks in slow motion
Steel faced suppressed emotion
As impending doom looms
Syd Feb 2019
Icicles hang
Temporarily melted by low winter sun
Under the pristine crystal skies
You and I hung

Crystalline...
Like metamorphosing butterflies
Webs of intricate thought
Are simultaneously spun

At night we're stunned
By the unfiltered cosmos
In its ultimate wisdom

No pressure of life
No consequence of decision

The stars are the headlamps
Resurrected by the crisp air
We are the paralysed and mystified
The rabbits in the cross hairs

Grateful...
We care not, the why, when nor how

Time and emotions are frozen
Starstruck..You and I
Lazily gliding through the mirrored still ocean

What wisdom lingers here?
In the pauses between thoughts...
What currents guide us here?
My fellow cosmonauts
Syd Jan 2019
Full of momentum
Intoxicated on summer's sunshine
No respect for the rain
I need to stop suddenly
Can't do it gently
Slam on the brakes
And drift eloquently
In slow motion...
I aquaplane



Danger in beauty
Beauty in wisdom
Bones fracture brilliantly
Like light in prisms
No room for logic
Slow motion gliding
Common sense hiding...
Cataclysm



Palace of wisdom?
If I live, leave me bleeding
******* moist air
With blood, hair and glass
Wrapped around my face
Whiplash with no headrest
Leave me crippled
And crumpled...

Another rusted ruin
At the side of the road to excess...
Inspired by William Blake "The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom" and my life.
Syd Jan 2019
Conned by currency
Lured in gently
Hours wasted generously...
I am full time employed

Melded soft metal
Idea's now skeletal
Decaying wilted petals...
A scream with no noise

A stunning star collapses
No more quick firing synapses
The addict relapses...
His dreams are destroyed

Disposable consciousness
A pawn in all of this
The blackness of all of it
Welcome to...The void
Inspired by my current employment
  Jul 2018 Syd
alexa
my pen threw up ink on the first word i wrote,
an ugly mark smeared
halfway down the thick, cream-colored page.
looking at that inkblot i heard
a reflection of myself,
identified as that smudge for
one reason or another,
maybe the fact that
my entire identity as a whole is
based off of others interpretations of me
or the fact that
i am always a mess;
when people look at my life from a birds-eye view
i am a figure only barely discernible
from the chaos
or maybe because
people only use me as a fun party trick,
like a horoscope, an arguing matter,
a novelty,
something that’s thrown away
and tossed aside
when its duty has already
been performed.
whatever the reason,
i think i am beautiful among the madness,
despite whatever it is you see
when you look at me.
inspired by a poem i heard at a reading a while ago. what object or thing best describes you?
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