Tuesday 31 July 2012

Pentagram and Wing


The pen has fallen silent
Once again, why has it fallen?
Dear god, the light is so violent
On a heart from misery stolen.

Has vacuum kept away the sound
Of the poetry-singing ghosts?
Has it really locked them underground?
Or has it covered the sound at most?

And if this is a vacuum truly
Then why are the words burning high?
Why have the birds of heaven newly
Replaced the bats of the night sky?

And their songs I can hear
Ever more clear, ever more serene,
So unfamiliar, And the tantalizing fear,
A phantom lurking in the shadows unseen.

Still his shade falls on me when I'm alone
and It makes my thin skin crawl,
Sitting on a mighty freshly new throne
It's up to me to prevent an entire empire's fall.

Enter, the only welcomed warming sound,
That matters when I'm drenched in doubt,
Love, your way home, you have found
I wonder if you'll ever want to find your way out?

Your voice is hope that shines ,
In the clanking sounds of fears,
And it goes right through my spine,
To guide me to where all strength appears.

So will you hold up with me our empire?
Will you send my doubt to the bottom of the ocean?
Do you understand my singing, my desire,
The dreams, the passion always set in motion?

I'm living on a land between a shining pentagram
and a rusty angel's wing
Between all the crashing waves of bliss and damn
Where do I get the courage to sing?

We live in a world where the questions are many,
and the answers are rather few,
In our faith and love we find our plenty,
But plenty is nothing if not for you.

The pen might fall, but the soul does not,
The pen might sleep, But I live on
My soul is too alive to rot,
And I can see the signs of the first dawn.


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