Art

There sitting among the sots is a man whom the wise consider unworthy of thought, his love unworthy of her charm and the gods who sit high above , guarding their pitfalls of error , destruction and lust consider him unworthy of life. they knew his end is near and so did this man . For his art was born with birth of the breeze and shall die in the last flames of the sun. His art is what kept him alive despite the endless horrors of time.

His art was what helped him survive the pangs of starvation.

His art was what helped him see beyond the eyes.

His art was what helped him lift the dark robes of love and kiss the white chastened soul.

His art was his belief in the gods,. that very art which gave him the power to give up the luxuries of life , made him see through the eyes of the gods. And there he saw the most malaginent souls of all. The souls rusted by endless luxuries, lust and lies. Since that very day he gave up his love for the gods and fruitlessly tried to open the chained eyes of hope and belief.

Today, he sits among the sots and celebrates his farewell.

The Eternity Of Love

The heart of yours is god's subtle gift,

so let the wings of your dreams let you lift,

then sing to the winds the songs of your heart,

let it cure the many swaddled by wrath.

Walk down every mountain , every street,

the alleys, the woods, and never retreat.

But haste not through these deserts so many

for the walk is long yet oasis many.

Worry not for your sanity , when you've found your love,

for keeping watch is an eye high above,

waver not when parting is the will of time

drink from the jars of love , blood mixed in brine

Leave not hope and never the faith,

for love's stronger than lust or hate.

Ride the bronco through meadows unknown

but forget not , your heart you no longer own.

Drench your self in the memories till death

and sing her name in the lovely last breath

Then the angels will take you there where love fills sight

there in the foggy misty night, the lover's shall unite.

Hope

We all are but prisoners in the dusk of this dawn,

All we have are the stale misconceptions from hope

As we lay, awake in this bed of the many sleepers.

We sing, we scream and we go silent

Knowing not if to breathe, we carry on

We dance in this party with the vanity of funerals

There is only one thing we can do, yet know not if its true

Hope is the name of our child,

Bloody and numb we know not if it is alive

On the board, the last pawn to fall,

In the woods, the grapevine embracing the grainy dead

It might just end being the song of mundane will.

In the sight of the sun, it is a flash of night,

And in the night, the shadow of a moonlit sky

Rising above like the waves of fate, all we can do is drown

Again, we sing and we scream

Drunk in the truth of these mysteries we dance

Dance through the funeral processions up to the bed of our graves.

The Heretic

I was never born and never shall I die,

I am buried in the earth and mock the skies.

I am not a human nor am I a bird,

Yet I fly, fly into this coldness of humanity.

I was never sane and never insane,

I was never drowning, just swimming away.

I am no sinner nor a lusty saint,

Yet a follower of a god who lost his reign.

I’m no serene symphony nor a raw cacophony,

But a blue guitar with the voice of poverty.

I am no warrior nor a coward king

But the ink which pronounced the evil thing.

I’m no preacher and never a puissant,

But the words which never left the tongue

I am not Christ and never the messiah

Nor a pawn in the war of faith.

I am the poignant poinsettia

Who wishes to leave the scarlet leaves,

Live in the long dead deserts

And withstand the maelstroms of strange desires.

I am not the maggot who thrived

in the meat of the wise magi.

But the mahogany’s lost freedom

Which is now but a bench in thy church.

I’m the one who saw the malignity

Brought to thy holy script, was the declared a malevolent.

Parted from my people because I loved thee,

While my love for him was simple and maladroit .

Just because I learnt what thee had wanted,

And not what the ones who fill their coffers teach you .

I was never born and never shall I die

Let me be buried and mock the skies.

Tonight's back alley