her haunts still rain the pindrop

turnings of their recesses--

where no wind could wrest her

words to solitude.

her throat raising sounds rapt in

the beginnings of song--the flight

patterns of birds upon a sky's

private screening.

she softly traded hands upon her

throat, her fingertips tickled by

the meaning of everywhere at once.

with everywhere in mind, she took

her time with every little thing, carrying

its note.

now her song is building to the point--

ears may be struck deaf by a silence

that was indeed golden.

DRIP DROP
DRIP DROP
THE PINDROP SILENCE
OVERTUREND BY MY TEARS

A world exists beyond the streets
And corners covered by these city lights

Where a gentle patter is beating down to a different kind of rain

And the moonlight falls, burning memories into our wooden hands and arms

Trust me when I say that such a world exists
Where there is only thing left to fall
And that is the whisper of a pindrop as it breaks

For as far away from these blinding bulbs and city squalls, it waits
Forever and always, standing out in the pale moonlight
Just as far away as it takes

"The End"
I hear the herald of a coming end.
He says, the words that we dread to hear.
The End Of Times.
I see it.
I feel it.
I dread it.
Welcome it.
The days are ending. God forgive me, but I feel sorrow and anguish only.
Bloodline rebellions, the slow descent into madness,
The pain we feel, the pindrop silence.
The investments of sin.
The insurance of damnation.
The Fall of Humanity.

And, for what we fear is here.
And I am the narrator, your king, your jester, and what you are.
Thy kingdom come, and crumble down, for you reap what you sow, and the deeds you did are here to haunt you.
Your words fall on Limbo,
threatening to abandon you to
Violence,
Wrath, and
Treachery,
as I wander about your tapestries,
only to witness your perfect insanity,
draped in the cold molten flowers of love,
smouldering your past memoirs,
extinguishing affection,
igniting anguish,
conflagarating the flesh.
The past is a mirror,
fractured into tiny pieces.
The more you try to fix it,
the more you change from the inside.
Eventually the end result is a bigger hole,
and you keep falling in,
only the hole gets bigger every time you fall in.
It's like kissing the lips of your dead love,
knowing you can never turn back from the choices you've made.
Try as you may, the only choice is to keep moving forward..
Never looking back, nor feeling the exact degree of that
old.. familiar feeling.