humility

The road was grey but not one;
in thus, it was not harkend to stay too long.
For the Fire of our earth and the Ice in our sky calls us when they can:
Spins us a truth, orbits the past, then returns to the black

all the tragic heros have not had two feet:
some were rocks who you shall shame when you meet.
some have assaulted impassable worlds
gone where they were never su'pposed to go.
life plus life, weaker as its absorbed
greater in the beginning where all was born

late blooming flowers on my paper'd wall
wait at the pass that some will call a law
because they wish it to be true, there best of friends
an end for the mistakes that mark there way.

well, those mistakes will always be.
some things shall not be destroyed,
for better or worse, it is our endevoured journey -
unwinnable alone - a paradox sits upon the throne
and some shall say, that thou have stayed too long
some shall say, that all is lost . . .


listen not

the new age

hummanity is an eye an' its strength, tears.
this is the last time but the first time I feared.
these are days and these are our nights - this is our sun
a message entwined?

the salt is either in the breeze or under foot
no choice draped in societal hoods
and what of the new age if all merit is took
what will keep you occupied while the best souls amoung you turn.

so many martyrs - path to heaven made!
but those luke warm are spitten from the tongue with distaste.
with all your passionate dead you will become bored.
these things i see, but wish not i would

mkultra

mkultra compliation

Tenfold Reasons Multiply

confidence in brooms to contain the otherside
the unexplored, neatly arranged, swept into piles for the better times
A swiss-army-knife for half opened passionite ties;
to living amoung the dying corpse, renassance lost in our minds
sculpted thoughts which burst from the seems
could not be contained within the moment from whence first conceived
when born one must walk - for if lost - it may not come back from the fields where the synapse roams.

if we but could build a fire tonight and not have our concealment lost
with complex turns and stars in our shoes we'll walk on air and rediscover loss

3dg3

the year of our redundant theme
waits for the birth of yesterday
lacks an edge or steel for pride
so lowley and beaten and strung from the wire

guards to watch as blood dries
no hope in thy might so they choose flight
no charge for the rage
no widom in ten billion drops of sand
all scattered and spread against the world
blowen by the wind, landing where they can

Places that Did Not match thine eyes
little profit and keys to the signs

To give for naught is the only road

the edge of hands meet in some great plan
deamn't long before stances spread -
across these foreign tongues the words, i love. . .
sung upon the brow of hope - i know. . .

Radiohead - The Diet of Worms

The Diet of Worms

on the Mer de Glace

the child blooms in an empty mind.
oh doctor!
victor!
is this why i tremble in my sleep?
cold carries a disillusioned vein
frozen long after the first glipse.
darkeness in soul who can never fly
you provide the birthday
and i'll provide the skin.

for the deamons amoung me
screaming
into second skin
laughing
a covenant replete with shame.
oh IAm, see, i call thy name
thy guardian of light
see, do i not shine just a bright
as the sea...

the horror of birth
the destruction of yesteryear
the memory of me, as i am no more
than the cold chilling thee in thy final score.

-------------

'Did I request thee, Maker from my clay
To mould Me man? Did I solicit thee
From darkness to promote me?'

- (X.743-5), John Milton's Paradise Lost.

spent amoung the orchards

my time has come, i must leave
don't look back but believe
the spirit of a single word
hangs near a star above
and when your near to closed eyes
return to the place were there is no divide

above a leaf
from where falls the dew
holds its place
as a memory of you

the honeybees and supple veins
the grass below hindered by time

my eyes see impressions of a different kind
light upon light, bold upon brave, torches that guide
one to the bench where i sit for a little while
until i become not but a sign
on a village road, in a wasted place
a guarded state, life piled upon life
til the evening is day and the blank fills in
a guide, a guide but not this sign
tis been torched to the ground
near a now frozen town where the winter never ends.