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Tag Archives: darkness

Hold

What am I waiting for

if the only thing I have left

is this empty

Screaming

Fucking head?

What am I waiting for

when the very Land

on which I stand

is Dead

And my thoughts and ideas

have all been Bled?

What am I waiting for

when the Ghosts are closing in

and my bleating Heart has fled?

My Mind has Become

an Animal you see,

One I Fear

and It

Fears Me

Give me a Hold

in this sharp and

cold

wall of Rocks,

something that I can grip

and not

Cut Bleed or Slip

for the Fall

is far

into that

Petrifying Mist

and there is No

Coming back

from that black

Abyss.

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Sounds

How can I be loud

When I try to Shout

No sounds come out?

How can Sounds have meaning

When they are intangible

untouchable and Receding?

How symbolic are the syllables

That leave my lips

Or are the markings engraved on Ancient crypts?

How are the sounds of falling leaves

Less beutiful then

A piano’s keys?

Sounds may seem comprehensible to fools

Who aren’t frustrated with a Language’s

Elegance, intricacy, it’s rules

But the thoughts that die within my head

Might in the darkness illuminating

Light be shed

Were not for sounds to make us see the World

To which we might all be bound

Like bats which scream at the Night to see

What Are Sounds?

A mystical phenomenon of Noise to me,

But not hearing the sights in front of you

Selfdestructing, absolute choleric,

Your eyes would misconstrue

The Sound we hear

Is all around shouting howling at the

Sky smashing anger and fury are distinct,

but Listening

is Extinct


Wanderer

In a Great Wood that is mysterious and old, and unfathomably large, There is a stream that wanders through It’s heart into the very Deepest, most gloomy part Where the air is still and the trees are ancient And the sunlight sifts through the mossy boughs and the Water seems to twinkle and glow As it softly washes the stones in the stream and runs gently over the Forest floor, and in this Archaic Wood of untold lore, deep within it’s mystic core The moss grows thick and Wild beasts live in the dense Labyrinth and almost a sense of Enchantment is conjured in this secret place where time is never wasted, never hastened but the passage of Time is difficult to measure in this Otherworldly treasure, a timeless and Beautiful Wood of forgetfulness. In these Woods there is a Wanderer who is seldom seen and he drinks from the stream that wind down the Forest floor, and he is a friend to the flora and Fauna and carries with him a Supernatural aura And knows not where he is going. He appears in the gloom beside a tree and disappears in the shade without a trace but the sounds of the Forest echo with his laughter and where he goes Nobody knows, the sounds of the stream become his voice, gaily singing to the Beasts and the Trees And he is not Lost but has found his way In the maze of the Pathless Wood and there he spends his days in the eternal twilit, eerie haze, Dancing into the ageless Forest. He cannot be seen by those who look to find him, Appearing at twilight as a shadowy sight humming softly in the firefly lit night, and fading away quietly and gay out of sight, Into the still Forest air until the Sun is set and he does not Let the Darkness scare him, For He is at Peace with the fiercest Beast and the Creatures of Fear. To Him the Black is clear as day, For the Wanderer has found his way. In this Ancient Wood where the stream flows Pure and Bubbles and gleams and the Forest seems an Indescribably beautiful, Vivified dream, I walked alone, and I was Lost. The Spirits of the Woodland Trees beckoning and calling me but I could not see, for it was dark and they were hidden by Leaves and Bark, and I was all alone and No light shone to show me the way, and I was Afraid. Sitting upon the massive roots among luscious moss and fork-tongued newts of a living wooden Giant, I closed my Eyes and there I lay at the feet of a Tree and I realized that although I could not see, my ears could discern from the voices of the Swallow and the Turn, the sound of Lighthearted laughter. Beside the stream, so pure and clean, There was a Wandering figure in a Dimly lit grove nestled among a fresh grassy clove of herbs and sweet flowers and the Forests patient, deliberate powers Drew me towards him. He was not afraid and he showed me the Way past Beast and Shadow and through the Dark places and the sad, Worn faces of forgotten memories, and he was my Guide, and by his side There was no longer any need to Hide, For the Blackness was emptied of Hate and filled with a Peace that Transcends the least significant of Worries And the Night was a place where Souls take flight and Soar above the forest Floor and alight among the starlit stream High Above the sleeping World.


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