Pillage of the Night

This night fog makes dense
The impulse of the scent scattering –
The alleys finding the right imposter,
Who had shunned from beauty his core, his darkness.
Dead night has yawned his moonlight over the skies of decay.
Simplifying the need for the Scent to find,
Thieves of New Order.
Hidden has it all the parches of fantasies
Withheld from the pieces of the unmade streams;
Of the massacred Dreams.
Long gone is ‘The Revel’ from the Village of Dead dreams,
As unfinished is left the job by Maker of Dreams.
The thief roams unchecked yet bechested,

“I am the writer of all Dreams, the Fantasia;
Archived are now withheld Trance,
The Maker, the Specter to you now am I,
Agony of the nights would yawn to dreamless blight.”

Curved veins of seeping, transcendent cirrus,
Blank darkness is no better than creeping nostalgia of an unknown heart.

The Womb

The dry days are long gone for the hunt that we took in place to satisfy. I look around. Women, the guardians of mankind, that now toil about. Look at them, their inhibition. They, the ones that brought settlement to the civilizations. The womb that betrothed many a success of mankind. Is now but a pale piece of instrumentation.

Look within and you will find - Appreciation, Relevance and Vitality. They seem a perfect place to take pledge in the ruins of a homosapien underframe. The womb takes thy mortal and pathetic self to a world above than petty consciousness. Is there a thing another than a beauty of women.

Forbearance to purulence. Women today have forgotten their place amongst us. Their very entails of lucidity has made even immortal lords sucrose.

Intimidation into women is the most superior worship to self. To detain the departed world behind and live the ways of the immortal. To earn their warmth keeps in you many lives alive. To respect them as goddess is an altar to your conscience.

Oh petty fools, to make love with deities form a sublime abode is your portion that, if you shall respect you would gauge the wasteland of this debasing world.

Oh Women, let loose thy charm upon the human race. Make vivid the non-nonchalance to the world of coming and becoming. Leave behind the raisins of nothing but of Eros and Dionysus. Let down the wine of pure conquest and fervor.

I have but let down the account on the pure grace of women. Women, the home to humanity. Nature's modesty and reservation.

Go and conquer the world. Teach warmth, love, trance and tranquility. Splurge.

Bail for the Bard

How could you find me here,

Amongst the last strongholds of the era;

That prison gloom that keeps me

Separate from all that I was made with?

Where the heartbeats are the throb of the common

Murkings of a lurking Death.

How pleasantly you keep me,

Unveil me, my miseries…

Your laugh, smiles trickle down the soiled

Stony walls and stony steps.

You make way home.

The rain seep in me, makes my Maelstrom high.

Cleaned I feel as the Oceans in me rise.

A shadowed rain; Message from you is send

Nature grows in the gloom of a disparate glaze.

Fill me, thou sleep in me to make me the Liege of all the waters unknown.

Maelstrom made am I. Sooth me, as the water’s rise again.

The Kohl

The Darkness,

Smudged to dreary clay;

The slit opening the world to a new light,

Of the Darkness kept in lark of the queer.

Smear it to rub new scenery on the world,

With the pupil sitting still

Making their way through a

Real and Murky globe,

In them is the Dark;

Wear it, Smear it –

Line thy eyelids with black

See the Dark world

Gloomy,

For it may Brazen your Light.

Your Essence much tangible

from Sight.

Debri

Why does it still feel the same. I lurk in the depths of my self. The corridors of darkness. Perishing upon the dust ascending debri of time. The scrolls lay ashen. I want to part ways with terror. The voilence of my mind. Please stay! Maidens leave me vanquished.

Exiled from mirth I am. Please stay. Stay for a while.

The clocks are hazy. Thoughts of detain are here for a stay,
The cold outside lingers as those
The eyes of HIS thunderous gleam
Are here to betray my hope of Death.
I am digging for myslef bowles again.

The myst is my company, forever atorn,
I pray to plead for it dirt my seeds of hope.
My mind raging from terror
It's a shack of cards strewn apart.
I am digging to find my storm.

At the lake of disguise I see,
My body strewn without a face,
Force me to pull my entails apart.
A long night again
I am digging to find my pains.

My house of masks is down,
My tears so real they make no sound.
I held against my black sun my sins,
A cold winter replies my din
I am digging again to find my sound.

In dirt, my mud i slack,
The earth from my eyes pour,
Is it the last day I am here to stay
I am digging to find my early gore.

Could I have some hands?

Put out the lights.

There is no need to wait for the road to pick up dirt again.
Nobody's coming.

Let's go inside, have a broth and some bread.
The candlesticks are the last to have of this night.
Eyes shrouding a night dream.

Walk away, please. Nobody's answering your door.
The call is the wood in the stark sties of the barn.
Knit, for the Night Light is still far away.

Have I alarmed your time? My clock is stirring a new Black Hole.
I have to clean the dishes.
Could I have some hands?
My mind.
Could I have some hands?