"occult" poems
In balancing of the opposites a harmonious state is the end result;
one can then see beyond oneself which some people call the occult.
Through self-mastery in one's life comes a certain transcendence
and any individual thus blest gains a unique level of independence.
_________________________________________
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 11:03 AM UTC
I stagger out of the Paradise Rock Club. 11:04pm.
42 degrees. Short sleeves, no jacket; I give zero *****
I have experienced something beyond words, but I'll try
In 50 minutes it will be All Hallow's Eve, a Monday
Due and not yet begun I have an essay on James Joyce and
A reckoning on the occult, inner mysteries of the CPU.
Again, I give zero *****
The last hour and a half were the best possible use of my time.
Not 5 miles away, people I sympathize with
are protesting the failure of America,
But tonight I have seen her undeniable beauty:
904, as the fire code rates, packed in to the inch
A choir united, the director:
A man who tonight skipped his Aunt Steph's funeral at her request
To be here
To direct us in each anthem.
In hopeful, truthful noise
Our hoarse and untrained voices combine
And as Mr. Key observes, against all odds, against all reason
Make the most beautiful sound.
D.B. Guy
Slightly drunk, tears in my eyes
On the Green Line
11:17pm
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 3:12 AM UTC
I'm writing this poem to be ignored
like many of you
I enjoy being a poet
of keen irrelevance
a literary luminaire
of solitude
a lost writing ghost
a megalomaniac haunting himself
a waiting oracle
waiting
for the occult muse door mouse to tap dance
whispering night babble
or having a cooked chicken fly into my mouth
while i take searing snapshots
of erratic images
puzzling them into words
from boundless burdens
of heaping intestinal bluesy aftermaths exodus of conscience
bruising my self like a ********* in heat
on out of control run-on rants
and blood razor drenched mysticism
while real men drive earth movers
drink bruskies
and kick ***
hustling time share Chinese handcuff contracts
and up sell social justice platitudes
fit for pie in the sky levitating hysteria
lives shatter like red ice
in endless cacophonies of skull clobbering effacement
I'm writing this poem to be ignored
and no one lets me down
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 3:32 PM UTC
she’s the girl who sets a room on fire with laughs or real flame,
and she stands in that same flame; ranting about herself
with blissful intention:
aries.
she’s the girl who mows the lawn all day to throw a memorable party
on perfectly pitched grass; but then spends the entire party
with that one guy on that one roof, just the two of them:
taurus.
she’s the girl who ***** you fiercest only to then display sudden and
crippling bouts of madness; she’s one of a kind, or two of a kind,
and she means some kind of love:
gemini.
she’s the girl who you fall for so easily, and she falls for you so easily,
and everything is a dream; but a dream transforms, seasons transform,
and the peopled cities with them:
cancer.
she’s the girl who steals the show every time, and she leans on you
when she’s tired and lonely; she reads science fiction books
and tells you all the endings, strange planets fixtured in her dreams:
leo.
she’s the girl who thinks too much, drinks too much, and weighs you for all
your words; but words are her demise as she digs her arms deeper
into the dirt to catch that feeling:
virgo.
she’s the girl who piles a shrine of shiny occult objects and spools through
men like shiny other objects; she has a beautiful heart, holy or not,
but without a doubt, entirely stylish:
libra.
she’s the girl who doesn't believe a ******* thing you say but kisses you
harder when you say it; she takes you up the hill to her folks
and they sacrifice you for blood mana:
scorpio.
she’s the girl who knows you best and knows even better she’s far beyond
the depths of your league; she has deafening dreams, with or without
you in them; for ruins she will climb or create:
sagittarius.
she’s the girl who buys the popcorn and eats the popcorn and sulks on
the couch while tonguing kernels out of her teeth; she will never
truly love you, just the idea of you:
capricorn.
she’s the girl who saves your life with a tracheotomy when you nearly die
on that plum street seed; she will leave you for a another man, a man
with a good rifle and a warm little tent:
aquarius.
she’s the girl who sees synchronicity in all things, all life, all dreams
and emanations; she will love you until the smell of mexico drags her
away upon a neverending weekend:
pisces.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 6:38 AM UTC
Husbands, raise your hands
Keep them up if you love your wife
Keep them up if you colour your wifes hair
Okay, this is for the three of us that are left....
I did my wife a favour
As I do, because I can
I help her when I'm able
Not just because I am a man
I **** bugs when requested
I do the laundry like I should
I clean the bathroom when it's *****
And by doing so , feel good
Every few weeks I will help her
Hide the grey that she can see
I don't volunteer to do it
But it's cheap to hire me
A salon visit is expensive
Doing hair, and waiting hours
I just slip on my latex hand wear
And I have a bag full of super powers
Yes, I help my wife get couloured
I take the time and do her hair
I also, get it on the tiles
Up the wall and on two chairs
The dog gets covered just a little
The rug, a window and the bed
But, we always buy two packets
So, there's enough to do her head
I have a jacket slightly mottled
It's got a few brown spots, some red
I don't know exactly how it happened
I even got some on our bed
Just call me Mr. Kenneth
In my jumpsuit doing hair
I get it where I think she needs it
And I spray it everywhere
She comes out looking gorgeous
She's always happy with the result
She always looks a little different
Like someone who believes in the occult
If you're a husband who likes money
Save it, colour your wife's hair
Your part only takes ten minutes
You need ten towels, one mask, one chair
It brings us both closer together
My arms look like a leopard skin
All my shirts are slightly spotted
But all those spots, make me look thin
I've got to go now and get cleaned up
The carpets ruined, so's the wood
But, she's happy and we all know that
If the wife is happy....all is good!
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 7:22 PM UTC
Staring corpselike at the ceiling,
See his harsh, unrazored features,
Ghastly brown against the pillow,
And his throat--so strangely bandaged!
Lack of work and lack of victuals,
A debauch of smuggled whisky,
And his children in the workhouse
Made the world so black a riddle
That he plunged for a solution;
And, although his knife was edgeless,
He was sinking fast towards one,
When they came, and found, and saved him.
Stupid now with shame and sorrow,
In the night I hear him sobbing.
But sometimes he talks a little.
He has told me all his troubles.
In his broad face, tanned and bloodless,
White and wild his eyeballs glisten;
And his smile, occult and tragic,
Yet so slavish, makes you shudder!
4.3k
Immutable proportions, unfaithfully seduced
By this grey witch,
new age daughter of the light;
mother earth midwife:
Co-conspirator of the New World order.
Green occult mysteries
reveal a gold and forgotten bridge
from science to religion.
Learning, Peace, Love, Appreciation:
"The truth shall set you free."
We are one Self.
~
Discover a golden bridge within!
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 7:23 PM UTC
(Smoking on that drill*2)..., Yeah ***** that kill2)..(Smoking on that drill3)..Yeah..(nigga that kill2)..I stay smoking on (that kill2)..Yeah..I stay smoking on (that drill2)..Aye nigga..(that kill2)..(Aye Im smoking on that drill*3)..Yeah ***** (that kill*3)..Uhh..
I ain't popping no pills , I ain't snorting nothing man, I ain't injecting myself, Im just rolling no mollies, I stay smoking on that drill, Yeah I stay smoking on (that kill*3)..nigga.. I'm getting straight to the business my ***** what's the deal, Uhh,Yeah, what's the deal with all of these buster ***** *** made fakes that's in the rap game mane, yall giving them **** ****** praises , that ain't Gods, they Satan peasants, Uhh..
I only give praises to the Heavenly Father & Jesus Christ , you should too, homie, I'm just giving out good advice, don't Idolize me my ***** I'm not a God, even thou I'm fly, even tho I ryhme so nice, dude you can be fly too, you gotta have confidence within you, look up to yourself my ***** you gotta encourage yourself, when nobody else isn't..
Uhh, Aye I stay smoking on that drill, Yeah I stay smoking on (that kill3)..So what man, Yeah mane,I'm smoking on that drill..(it helps me2)..be a better me, it medicates all my pain , it helps me meditate all of my depression away..So why the freak they got it illegalized for mane..Aye
The government is so evil homie, they the Occult , they so Satanic mane..The government been tryna destroy my reputation.. I know they after me,Yeah mane..They after me homie, wanna take my life away, Yeah they wanna put me 6 feet under with a closed casket service, mane, because all I rymhe about is the truth homie, Aye I ain't running ..noo..I won't stop tho, no I won't dawg, if death do comes then, Imma fight death all the way back where it camed from, They can throw me how much money they want to, but I won't take it,noo My soul is worth more than gold, All I need is Jesus, he saved you & me from ever being defeated, so he's the only Idol to me man..Aye..
(I stay smoking on that drill Yeah2)..(I stay smoking on that kill,Yeah2)..(smoking on that drill2)..nigga Yeah (that kill3)..(Uhh2)..(Yeah2)..my ***** this ain't no gangster music & I ain't no gangster Imma King Imma real ***** & , Imma Rebel too mane,..Ayo, I bet I could rap some **** that every hood ***** will blast & feel tho homie..Aye..I ain't no **** either, but I'm thugging against America..Fuck em Uhh..
I'm so g, my ***** I'm me Yeah ***** , I'm who I always wanted to be my nigga..so **** what a doubter & a hater gone think about this one...because
***** I rise3)..(nigga I strive3)..Yeah ***** (I rise2)..(nigga I strive2)..(nigga I ride*2)..for OFTR only & my ***** (thats Fo life3)..Yeah..(nigga I rise3)..(nigga I strive3)..nigga I rise..(nigga I fly2)..(nigga I rise2)..(nigga I strive2)..nigga I rise ***** I fly Aye..
(Smoking on that drill*2)..Yeah ***** that kill*2)..Yeah nigga..I stay smoking on that **** Yeah I stay smoking on that kill..nigga I'm (smoking on that drill3)..(nigga that kill2)..
Aye *****
/(I strive 2)..(I rise2)..(I fly2)../3
Smoking on that drill,..
(Yeah ***** that kill..that kill..Uhh*3)
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 1:11 PM UTC
It is occult, maybe, that we are twins
but not of Gemini
how you know
which streets to turn left at
while I have the names and no context
how you still smell like cinnamon
although I never saw you
rub powder against your skin.
We are in the same city now
we have the same radio stations.
I see you the way I see the outline of
a boot when I can’t touch slumber
not ethereal
but almost reduced to such a shape
a barbershop’s swirling bulb
stretched and sunnier when no one has
entered in some time.
Everything is magic
in desperation, everything is similar.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 5:21 PM UTC
Shadow of the past,
echo of the future;
dedicated Musician,
a Phonomancer;
and inspired Philosopher,
a Philosomancer.
A Mystic and a Metalhead,
a lifetime Scholar and a self-Teacher;
a determined and self-guided mythic Artist,
a psychologist and an Observer;
I am a Lover, a Father, and a Son,
a homeowner and a Dishwasher,
a Friend and a bit of a stoner,
a social drinker and a fan of quality Spirits;
I am a self-contained Universe
contained within another Universe;
so fractal-esque.
There is much to this being I call "me"
and so little of it is visible
from the surface of my awareness;
so much of it falls within-
within the limitless void;
to be revealed only in Time,
and, to be unraveled by Time.
Discerning, yet reckless,
a wise man and a fool;
I find myself within,
and within myself,
a beautifully chaotic dance
of chaotically diverse energies.
Within:
the Spirit of a Renaissance Man;
Music, Geometry, Cosmology,
Mathematics, Statistics, Physics,
Mythology, Musicology, Psychology,
Masculine, Feminine, Canine, Feline,
Light, Dark, Day, Night, Sun, Moon,
Anthropology, Cooking, Dreams,
*** Love, Lust, and Suffering,
Spirituality, Science, Language,
Contrast, Respect, Individualist,
Intuition, Feeling, Understanding,
Action, Non-Action, Elation,
a bit of a Goth and a Hippie,
a Rocker and a Composer,
Haphazard Attention to Detail,
Conscious, Shadow, Subconscious,
Id, Ego, Super-Ego,
Animal, Human Being.
Alive.
Mortal.
Mortal,
and grateful for it.
An aspiring,
amateur Shaman
who "shows promise";
dabbling in Feng Shui,
the Occult,
T'ai Chi,
the Tao, Zen,
Music,
Art,
and Life;
a dilettante Poet;
I am an ephemeral expression,
a temporary microcosm,
of both the Human Spirit
and the very Universe
in which we occur,
if for but a brief,
beautiful,
fleeting,
moment.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC
As a kid time wasn't the same,
a day feelt like forever
and everything was a game.
Now I'm a ****** up adult,
in a world fast and insane,
the game now feels so occult.
Why does everything feel so strange?
Life feels like a weird insult.
Why did all things have to change?
Change is good they'll say to me,
but my craving still remains.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 9:26 AM UTC
Immutable proportions, unfaithfully seduced
By this grey witch,
new age daughter of the light;
mother earth midwife:
Co-conspirator of the New World order.
Green occult mysteries
reveal a gold and forgotten bridge
from science to religion.
Learning, Peace, Love, Appreciation:
"The truth shall set you free."
We are one Self.
~
Discover a golden bridge within!
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 7:22 PM UTC
I am from water, from fire,
from earth and air,
the spirit to complete.
I am from the busy movement of city
from the busstling to and fro.
I am from historic land,
from where many jumped to find gold,
to find a better life.
I am from the prison of Him,
from where the truama begins,
perfect from all around.
I am from nights of games,
from spondgebob monoply
from Life.
I am from the seeds of the earth,
from where the magick starts.
I am from Odin, from Apollo,
the strong Yggdrasil to protect.
I am from the occult of practice,
from the forests and seas.
I am from long walks with Odin,
from his warm embrace,
from playing fetch.
I am from the theatre,
from Carlos, from tech.
I am from here.
Feb 20, 2023
Feb 20, 2023 at 12:57 PM UTC
One autumn day in Providence
I opened up a door,
And entered into a stuffy room
Called "Edgar's Nevermore",
A curio shop with things forbidden,
And things bizarre and perverse,
And obelisks of ancient books
Occult, arcane, and diverse.
I poked around the pint-sized potions,
Inspected a petrified eft,
But made no purchase; and empty handed
The merchant's lair I left.
Returning home, to my surprise,
Like one who'd broken the law,
I found I'd taken a good unpaid for:
A little monkey's paw.
It tightly gripped, with fingers curled,
A flap of baggy sleeve;
And there it stayed, upon my jacket,
When I hung it up at eve.
For many days it didn't move,
And seemed the perfect pet;
But never trust a monkey's paw,
Or this is what you'll get:
I went to bed a drunken evening,
And slept as though I were dead;
And I didn't hear the monkey's paw
As it crept beside my bed,
The monkey's paw that had bided its time,
And waited, still as could be,
To choose this night to strangle it—
My voodoo doll of me!
(Why did I have a voodoo doll
Of me, you ask? Well, I...
Well, let's just say...well...I can't tell you...
I'd blush to tell you why...)
I awoke (with bleary, blurry vision)
To the monkey-fisted grip,
Then died without a single curse
To swear upon my lip.
And in my town I'm still remembered
As that quintessential loner
Who died alone with a mangled throat,
A creepy doll...and a *****
O.O
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
Spitting occult lyrics to snow confusions.
I being able to slow my own notions,
Am called the Conformist.
Am not crazy. See my brain?
I swear am just eccentric.
New blessings and abilities become insanity,
Look, this is just an overflow of positivity,
Still, saying am crazy, wont back me down,,
Am just eccentrically gifted by himself different.
Why not for the sake of being admit uniqueness?
Cant change who am made, to this admit pleasing.
A poet I am, not a writer, to me commit ceasing.
Why are my unique thoughts referred 'twisted?
Omit that **** and know eccentric means gifted.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 9:40 AM UTC
This is, where the dragons went
Not waiting, not dead
This is, where the dragons went
Dormant they lay instead
Packed tight in a place
With scaling filled space
And nevermore
They have been seen
This is, where the dragons rest
Not reality, not dream
This is, where the dragons rest
In occult shimmer gleam
As magic did fade
They left nothing but sage
And by degrees
They were forget
This is, where the dragons wake
Not brutal, not calm
This is, where the dragons wake
Summoned to our realm
Recalled to a spot
They slowly forgot
And conquering
They wander back
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 5:09 PM UTC
They've sold their souls in the midst of humility
and super-pervaded occult, they've sacrificed
people just to get that fancy car, and that
mansion like paradise, and all that glamors on the
face of multi-universe, they are living in the era of
self-aggrandizement, and more doubtfully
contemplate christianity, they moved a step
further to promote atheism, the concept of
humanistic thought have been overthrown, and
decisions made under the philosophy of
postmodernity, depictions of reality are mystical
and emanate from the dark prisms, their
conception of glorification is different from the
society's, therefore I'm hateful and watching as
the world slowly chokes itself to death.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 4:09 PM UTC
empty hallways, forgotten voices
pictures hang, dusty and off balanced
cobwebs spread from door to mirror
a young rat scurries past the broken floor
his picture still hangs over the fireplace
a spider runs down his well-shaped nose
each brush stroke is thick and sculptured
the dust collects as sand dunes
the whole room seems mysterious
books of occult line the paint-chipped walls
the windows cracked the night air blows
dead trees peer down on slamming shutters
the old house creeks and cracks
howling doge are echos of past crickets sing songs of last dreams
this house, this ledgend infinte
captures one's mind as lonley and hideous
remembers it's myths fools false illusions
under the now dim light of the moon
spooks creep silent footsteps
his spirit surrounds the acre
truth and lies untested question
of how he lived alone from living
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 11:17 PM UTC
There's the mosh...sordid details that thing...
creeping of sort...retelling...to stay in focus.
A silent film whose black borders encapsulate
a slab of skyward white.
Visages...opening...opened...to interpretation.
"The apparition of these faces in a crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough."....ashen...
daguerreotype of a Zen Garden.
All of nature's pretties cast in an occult brew...
stirred, and stirring...composite sketches posted
and burned upon lampposts.
At large...ritualistic making-of-face...illusion
trafficking the ever present primes of lives...
"the center of which is everywhere, the
circumference nowhere."...attestation o' mugs.
Visages...plucked from a year of our lord,
to be...rendezous of all light's putting to...
years thereof.
Alien unto thyself...oogly boogly, yet mirror-imaging...
behold/beheld/beholden.
By sleight of Hand...visages, who'd otherwise
be as soon pruned and leathery, inanimate under the
sun.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 11:19 PM UTC
Court of owls
New ink, new shoes
Clocks on, I'm about to run it
Fast as my pain's Timeframe, bout to gun it
I hope you feel something better my man,
***I'm feeling something
I'm feeling something better than planned***
Tuck in the winter, dam i fall into action
springing past Morty and summer
While I'm watching TV slumber
shaking off chains of reactions
is it a new start
call it innov8ing
or maybe to our past
Definistrating
memories, atoms alternating
like the world sputters aspirating
Spit split straight portals compensating
I'm drunk on Dark matter ever oscillating
the wind turned to me
just so it could turn on me
Judgment for eternity
Experience is the same
it howled with certainty
MY Experience denied 3x
so now you hear me?
from this judgment
I'm always ripping free
I don't generate art
so you can whip at me
I might penetrate stars
The universe is an artist
so Why does it ****** us
Aint the universe ever even heard of us?
I'm the passenger and still woozy the sickness
feeling the pressure but I gotta be a witness
compassionate, no judgment
we all have our reasons
~Got a spot that I keep w33d in
Hidden with the green stem bleedin
we may have different heavens
but we come from the same soil
When others decide our emotions
Got so many reasons for defense,
reach out and tipped it for the deflect
emotions reflect the deficit of me breathe
I just shake my head
so heavy, I need rest
Court of owls
Port of vowels
I am Born of miles
So I adult when you consult the Occult
knowings the lotion but still decomposin
all this is music I just need to recompose it
Saved another life Now the reaper owes it
I think I've got amnesia,
Waking up to
Sir you had a seizure
Eyes always look like
Man...I wouldn't wanna be ya
Empathy
is another form of slavery we sign up for
We live and we learn
Boomerang on the mic
I go and return
But its not just about living well
its about knowing the root of life
its Taking the threads in your hands
to rack the rains and crack the chains
Caught in the dream, my ego forgets
Sleep is such a shy death
***Court of owls
Port of vowels
I am Born of miles
in the Korn of howls***
May 4, 2022
May 4, 2022 at 12:33 AM UTC
Jonathan Anderson's collections walk a confounding tightrope between naïveté and decadence. Much of his new menswear looked like clothes for a futuristic, spiritual retreat (Anderson himself said he wanted something "laid-back, Zen-like"), but the buckled patent shoes were purest dancehall honky-tonk. The fitted leather jackets were pretty flashy, too, especially when contrasted with multi-pleated pants in plainest calico or denim.
"He took himself seriously," said the voice-over that launched Michel Gaubert's stirring soundtrack (a journey all in itself), but that felt like Anderson poking a little fun at his own expense—or at least anticipating reactions to his quirky rationale. He insisted his collection was actually like an imaginary world that a child might create for himself, akin to the tree houses he and his brother used to build. The preciousness that such a boy would bestow on things that are essentially valueless was reflected in the ordinary objects—keys, tools—that were transmuted into jewelry, the board game that mutated into a constructivist jacquard, and the calico or denim artfully constructed into the pants that made up the foundation of the collection. Some of the models were carrying a small metal frame on which curious little things were suspended, almost like charms to ward off who knows what.
That subtly occult tinge has become something of an Anderson signature, the way he disturbs the refined with the raw, for instance—a thin strand of bamboo or a bandage of calico nipping the waist, or a crude smear of paint across a tulle top so fine it is barely there, or even a white feather stuck to a shoulder. Such touches feel last-minute spontaneous, but also off-kilter, which is exactly where Anderson wants to keep us. But his work is now so consistent that off-kilter is proving a rather pleasant place to be.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 2:01 AM UTC
If ignorance is bliss
And knowledge is power
I'll conquer the abyss
And defend my Tower
If Babel did spiral
And cursed all our people
I'll learn occult symbols
And cast out this evil
If Zeus blasted my crown
And reduced to rubble
I'll flow red from your brow
And rip through your muscle
If Prometheus ran
And flames danced in his eyes
I'll pluck two apples and
Hand you our sweet demise.
Nov 6, 2022
Nov 6, 2022 at 10:04 AM UTC
in the closet across from the delivery room, a janitor disguised as a hospital janitor sits on an upside down bucket under which he’s trapped what might be the world’s slowest rat. in his mind he is attempting to clean his mother’s body while supplies last. his hands are curled like the receivers of certain phones con artists used back in the day to convince people they could talk only to ghosts. the young and personable volunteer assigned to the hand he doesn’t answer is speaking so softly the man leans forward.
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 2:43 PM UTC
Success is a mere construct that is subjectively incompatible with professed spirituality.
Butter may spread with ease on a slice of bread, and it may not.
There is something appealing about the grains of sand which lodge in obscure places.
The texture of nature is truly fraught with the bliss and tragedy of North African mysticism.
Geology may be ancient, but so are the sensual indulgences of Cleopatra.
The construction of wonders remains to be perplexing; and I haven’t cleansed myself in milk.
Cairo is the epitome of occult curiosity where Anubis reigns in contemporary economics.
The All Seeing Eye promises safety at the cost of homage.
Identify yourself. If freedom doesn’t exist,
then why does the abode of the dead eagerly impose determinations?
Fly the flag. God bless America.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:24 PM UTC
Gravity...
Has the guilt of my everything.
Forbiding the only chance to be free,
Chaining my thoughts to the ground.
Hysterical laughs on charcoal leaves flew around,
Disturbing serene sadness of my glee.
Awaken worlds in life's little things
Forsake my tender thoughts to the nothingness wings
Dissipating with velocity
In the hands of Gravity.
Gravity...
It's like an occult religion
With all its strange ways.
Devouring miscellanous levitating dreams
Spreading mercyless comtempt to the ones on the banned brims -
The ones who dared to fly on the Sun's sacred rays.
Gravity is the vermillion
Murderer of all the ancient hopes fallen in the
Slush of eternity.
I've been cursed forever
With the evanescent living...
I've been forbided to say "never";
But my words flew anxiously away...through the ceiling
Despite Gravity.
Nov 21, 2010
Nov 21, 2010 at 7:55 AM UTC