Monday 4 February 2013

The Beauty Of Death



There's a certain beauty in dying
The catch and release of your breath
Nothing is a certainty without trying
It all boils down to sunsetting death

That moment, the final torture
One last moment of violent strive 
And then you're free, the scorcher
Burns no more your struggling drive

Spiralling down to sacred quietude,
Tearing your guts in bits and shreds
The pain mutates to utopian solitude
Your life start unveiling all its heads

Bowed down, their hats come off
You're already mourning yourself
All you've dreamed, all you're proud of
Is dust and ash on an old hidden shelf

Death's face is seductively beautiful
So much that you live in constant search
Of a poison that is deep and fruitful
Enough to force your core to twist and lurch

Swirl and fall in your last suffering field
Your last collar and your last wine
The last kiss that your lust will yield
The last chain that will pierce your spine

You secretly flirt with death in pain
You feed him with your insides torn
He pats your cheeks, it won't be in vain
From your ashes my phoenix will be reborn

And that's when I will look fondly at him
And smile for all what I am is finally lost
The world around me grows warm and dim
And I leave with the lover I loved the most.

Sunday 3 February 2013

Under Your Throne



I breathe here, under your throne
Like my lungs drew air for the first time
What arrow has shaken my every bone,
I come clean before you for my every crime.

Under your throne there's a smile
That I never saw but have known forever,
My grieve has taken me a thousand mile
Just so in its light I can flow like a river,

Full of stars withering and falling then reborn,
To line every path that you unravel inside
Here as I kneel powerless and forlorn,
Here as I'm carried away by your unseen tide

Of angels concealed under their glory-
Your servitude, how I long for their grace,
For my secret silent prayers, for my story,
For the feel of your angels' touch on my face.

Under your throne the world is mute,
Only the sound of my wounded soul a scream
In my heart's twisted sinew, my mind's lute
And my faith digging out the grave of my dream.

I know you see me now in the anxious crowd,
I know you are looking down on my silence,
Will you take me as a slave? Should I be proud
And renounce the ways of my inner violence?

Know me, my gracious God and say unto me,
That my tears shall not waste away,
In all the darkness of the eyes I see,
Tell me God that you've paved this way.

And I shall cry, but not for a sadness inside
I shall cry for every stabing pain, every sin,
Under the throne of God, I swell with pride
For your name is carved under my skin.

Alienation




They claim individuality, they exist alone,
They are the ones who walk without packs,
With vaults on lock and locks of stone,
Enjoying their lives better back to back,
They say they exist alone but they don't,
Without someone to tell their loneliness to-
Their solitude shall never be true, it wont-
Justify their fierceness, their points of view,
Their hate towards themselves and their love-
Towards themselves they dare not articulate,
Their below looks too alike with their above,
I'm afraid, if the world saw it, it will be too late,
They will be too valuable to die on that day,
And much too easy to kill for fun,
It'd stop being enjoyable to watch them play
See, their chaos is precious and next to none
They are known to be mutually unalike,
She walks up to him in full feathered display,
To her, seduction is like riding a bike-
On a Wednesday night at the end of May,
She says speak unto me in thoughts deep,
Use the words you use in your own head,
Whisper to me because words aren't cheap,
Burn with your darkness my old scarlet bed,
And his tongue cuts deep and her blood is black,
And his fingers strangle and her neck is glass,
He won't give up on her dreams until they crack
Under her burning skin so wild and crass,
Mindless fools, or sages born in temples,
The dreamers or the killers of dreaming,
Profoundly convoluted or basically simple,
No one seems to understand their seeming,
They exist for reasons not like the others,
They exist to put the world to usage,
To use snowflakes of the winter to smother-
The spring out of its white wreckage,
To use the words of their disturbed mind
For healing the gashes of their troubled souls,
To use the darkness that they designed,
To justify how in the light their smiling falls,
They use their words to drug the living,
They use the words to waken the dead,
They pray for their worlds to be forgiving,
And end up forgiving each other instead,
They use poetry to talk to god because-
That's the language he chose for the world,
They use the loathing that they chose-
As an excuse to offer their heads for the sword,
No one cares enough to give them a name,
Everyone does nothing but observe their pain,
No one ever wants to go where they came,
No one ever wants to go to kingdom insane.