Poezja

Cringe the pharaoh maiden
The expectorate that lays within
To decimate the soul
Of the remaining ounce of control
 
Which if relinquished
Will make me more whole
Than you could ever be
 
I need the competition
Because the blue sky is not free
It is the lost attempts of a vapid past
The ghost of masters
Sitting silent upon the grief stricken raft
With wrath of ages
And unexpected wagers
 
To call hollow sounds into
The nights that don’t last
 
And when the first two verses
Are left behind
The nonsense become climactic
Like the rhythms of the Rhine
In which nothing is forsaken
And no soul can ever look
At the indolence
And poetry
The street fractured
Illusion
The type casted forensics
Of an experience that is no longer me
 
Cringe the pharaoh’s maiden
Hint silent at the waning light
For if the neon comes crashing down
At least the sound will implode
Keep quiet for the children playing ball
On the open fields with their fathers
 
Lay silent on the grass
Looking up at the golden flowers
Sit against a tree
And warmth brushes my face
With the embrace of a serpent
That has come to steal my soul
 
I exist only to let you down
To enamor the dull-witted and soul dead
With witty catch phrases
And to speak only of the witty catch phrases
To cut myself down in my external form
Perceptible to me
Through the eye glass of illusion
Seen by me
As the light that can’t subside
I try to die inside
And I know that one day I will
 
But the beaten child
Has grown too strong
To lay dormant any longer
And so I raise my head and cry out with a scream
I am not what I seem
This is my ego, this is my fear
I am the unspeakable
And so I can never share
 
…farewell to the sullen ground
Hello to the roots of despair