Sunday 6 May 2012

Two Voices In The Night



Two voices entwined in the night
And it owned them whole, though it set them free
Two voices and no one heard quiet
What the world did hear, what the world did see
Two voices, in two separate beds,
Two hearts, one soul pounding in two heads
Two throats at the mercy of tears
Courageous, strolling on a path of fears
All cleansed away, the night made sure
That with their own hands they find a cure
To all what has gone wrong, all the love
They’ve been denied, all what they strove-
For ended there at the feet of the dark
All the magic landed in this spark
And it lit up a light beyond the visible
''Hold me'' she said, but that wasn't feasible
So he held her in the only way possible,
He stretched his lung and got his heart
And it flowed, so sweet, pure like a start
Of a symphony, Oh sweet symphony
Engulfing us in your infectious harmony
What do you inflame but the stagnation
Of our souls, Symphony of passionate salvation
Beautiful enough to torment us,
Magical enough to make us
Forget all what the world can ever teach us
And drown in this bottomless ocean
Of knowledge, hand crafted wells of emotion
Neatly placed near the graves of childhood
Nearly traced all the way up by the sand
Almost dry, but not quiet,
Because the night is here, and when the night
Looks upon two voices and smiles,
The sand can’t dry this well, no matter how it piles,
The well swells up still and births a flood
Of faith and fire running high in our blood
There has to be more, it has to be longer
There has to be a way to make the moon stronger
For once and forever,
Break off every tether,
And lose all daylight in a rhyme,
Lose all daylight; it's just dead time,
Lose it in my hand, lose it in my eyes
Lose all what you can, for no body dies
When they allow themselves the freedom
To conquer the realms of a mythical kingdom
In their own selves, in their place,
But tonight acknowledges not time nor space
The hands of god has looked upon my prayers few
They’ve looked upon your prayers too
And I could hear the angels promising
That what I asked won't be for long missing
I just didn't care as to what they sang,
For opposite to my bed is where all my dreams hang,
Few short steps away,
Yet further than the light of day
Two voices in the darkness of the night
And he said, I will not survive a lonely bed
So would you rather stay instead,
If I promise I won't say goodnight?

Wednesday 2 May 2012

Torment



At times like this we pray,
But we have no tongues,
What to do when all our ways
Are stacked in airless lungs?
At times like this we believe,
But we have no souls,
What can a man with little heart grieve
Without letting all his masks fall?
The hand of the poet sleeps,
In the faithless moments to dream,
Reality into the darkness seeps,
And it becomes one with his scream,
Not said but understood,
Not understood but surely known,
How can his eye willingly embrace the blood
When beauty took off its garments and shone?
Blood is the storyteller beneath the skin,
Blood is the silent pathways trapped,
Carrying trails of virtue and sin,
How when spilled can they by a poet be grabbed?
Early enough, to burn bright down the street,
Late enough, to destroy all what they touch,
They run and curve and under his feet
They stop, Ah! Why begin a flow as such?
The poet wanders, the city falls dead,
And he, alone, a prayer so silent,
At the last place a word rests her head,
His temptress muse, gone into a vacuum violent,
A response with the last trace of air,
In exchange to holding on to a world
His world, even more real than their
Cage with their own greed a sword,
There he stands grieving his own childhood,
And their he grieves their most dreadful sin,
and he shuts his eyes as tight as he could
So tell me, poet, lover, friend, father, twin,
In your world, does the devil still win?