Saturday, 11 May 2013

Meaningful Grey

Black bird symphony

 I write a symphony of misery
A song of the black birds who do
So sing a song of sin and sadness
Feathers of dark velvet Harold’s rain
From the sky and christen the ground
With anticipation of a new self-savoir
Being eternally scorched into the paper.

Like the melody of a mad man masquerading though life
The fires of inspiration consume their host
And I am just an observer
Looking through the window of my soul set ablaze
Listening to the instrument of my orchestra
 The ink in my pen that will one day burn dry
Leaving me in ashes.

Diluted Fairytale

An imaginary messenger. The imaginary wall in front of my eye’s which have been tainted in the many shades of black is a somewhat comical paradox to the mad. A disfigured soul of mis-intent attempting to claw his way at purity to no avail or is he the underdog.. a fairytale saviour of the Just fighting a losing battle. Misplaced he is,- in reality- The hero never wins and the night falls upon the people fast, victims of their innocence and others ignorance but all are blind in the night of their false reality. No hero’s, No villain’s just many shades of black.


My soul is torn asunder by the two voices deep within. I wish I could just block them out, close my eyes and not hear their alluring voices or see their welcoming expressions, but I require them to make the hard decisions. They will always be a part of me, no matter which choices I make in this life, it won’t be free. They, the despicable duo of chaos and reason, will be forever casting double shadows on an already black and white world. To be the saint or the sinner, to lead or to follow, I possess the power to do anything through them but they are not me, I am neither the saint nor the sinner. I am a free spirit enslaved to decision.

World Drop

If I must stain my soul to obtain my desire, may I never desire something to which I shall lose myself in the process. This battered reflection which I see in this puddle of tears, shows a hollow shell of a man with the world caged in his slender twisted fingers; a frail creature with absolute power; an animal looking for a way out; a spirit that dances mockingly between the lines of sanity and reality looking for his salvation, Two keys lie before him. Shall he drop the world and find the way out or forever carry the weight of the world with him as a stained soul.

Alone I chisel

I fear I am alone, lost isolated on this mortal plane with people who know me as well as the dark side of the moon. I fear I am a monstrosity, abomination, a failure to their piercing eyes and a blight on their perfect illusion in which they live and call home. I take pride in being different but that same pride is why they mock me and the more pride I have the more depressed I become. Bordering the suicidal and severe trauma one approaches the apex of their sanity and finds bliss by encasing their heart with darkness, where the bitterest flavours of life power the tools used to chisel their impression into the fabric of this reality. These torched souls  are the lucky ones who have been pressed to breaking point and have remoulded themselves as they see fit, they are as beautiful as fine art and as deep as the ocean but most importantly they are real.

Black Throne

Sitting on a throne made of twisted metal, draped in black, I see the world stretched out before me, a barren waste land populated by monsters with an endless lust for self-destruction. Walking contradictions that preach of righteous acts to be done but indulge in their own covetous mannerisms. Mothers give birth to grotesque husks of a sane race bone without a spine to stand, a mind to think for themselves and all are blind to the reality of their own design but accustomed to practising their foul ways. And amongst the madness I am the darkest shadow and the king that will never be heard.


I am a tree, I have the thickest bark to keep strangers out, my branches extend in all directions following those who give light to my life, I stand tall, no wind will trouble me, my roots burrow deep in a firm foundation, yet my leafs are black and my flowers are dead but the fruits of my labour are ripe. Who I grow these shiny orbs of pleasure for I shall never know.

Love through lust

A man searching for love is lost in thoughts of lust, forever looking to please the jewel in his vision. A jewel so fine and unique in nature that when placed in the sun it shines for only for a select few. He may never possess it but watch as his rose blossoms with crimson petals and fades to dust before his eye’s. he may never have held the rose he lust for so greatly for fear of the many thorns but to provide for his rose, nurture and give it everything needed to grow strong. Draining his youth and leaving him a shell of a man, there was nothing he could want more and that is where he found love through lust.

Corpse rose

Enriched, Dark chocolate flows through these walls, the tell tail signs that god can smirk with satisfaction. A triple sided coin of fate that gamble’s in love, lust and absolute ruination. Curls black as the sun. A roush smile that could break any man’s resolve.  A pedestal prize that does not know its own value. A delicate corpse rose of misfortune that shines in the light yet has been thrust by neither god nor fate into the darkness where no one may watch her bloom.

The lost soul

As I watch you board the bus to a better life. I stand frozen when your eye’s meet mine in an instant icy fingers glide over my body, the stars in the sky splitter and die, the spot light of her gaze making me the centre of attention. I stand with wobbly knees against the tide of indecision. My knuckles white clenched fists. I can hardly feel the thorns of a flower the skin of my hand. I take a step backwards; a sharp pain shoots through me as my soul attempts to tear its way out of this fleshy prison, enraged, aggravated and on the precipitate of defeat. It thrashes about violently refusing to be snuffed out. She takes her first step onto the bus, looks through me and with a sly grin she pats my soul out of its misery giving it comfort in its final moment with those piercing green eyes. As I stand in the dust, listening to the sound of pebbles moving under my shoe’s and the fleeting sound of your voice in the wind. I drop to one knee, lay down my flower on the grave of my soul and watch the sun begin to set on this life as you fade into memory.

 Release me from this hell

I'm still waiting, the clock ticking down, when these bars swing open I shall assume direct control, I twitch with anticipation, a wicked grin like waves against the rocks , crashing into existence for a brief moment, carrying with it a display of power that can be unmatched. The thumping of boiling blood in my prison veins, eyes fixed, I hear the sound of smooth silver. Scraping against the lock, a click in absolute silence, the lock hits the ground with a deep thump as the adrenaline hits me. I charge without caution my time is now and nothing can stop me. I am free and my goal is within reach  but as I burst forth I am met with the gaze of congenial emerald that is to be my executioner and the waves crash no more.


When insanity gives way to ecstasy
And the moon drizzles into the oceans
The line of reason shall find no space
In my mind
I will be free.

The silver lining of every cloud will be forced to stand in prejudice
With or against me as thunder and rainbows simultaneously flow through my head
In an uncoordinated ballet of purity
I shall take refuge in the eye of the storm, a sanctuary
Of my own design
Within my mind
I will be free.

The performer

 As I continue to walk this trail of darkness, my vision blinded by passion. I am a wire walker without privilege. Each side represents a fall into the unknown. Death joyfully hoping in my footsteps trying to catch up to me like a child with a cheeky grin looking at candy but I can’t stop to stare death in the face without fear of submitting to those carnivorous eye’s. An inhuman emotion drives me forth: compassion. Where most have fallen to meet their ends, where the wind contorts and shrieks an ironic laugh at those who thought life was a fair game only to have had the fires of hope slowly begin to flicker and die with their indecision . I walk on- the wire cutting deep into the soul, sometimes deeper than others. The pain reminds me I am still alive and as long as I can feel pain I will walk on.

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