I inhale the curls of smoke as the fire warms my empty soul. The soot and ashes giving me something real, a destruction of sorts to hold.
It reminds me I’m alive, even as I know it lets Death take hold, the cold chill grip reminds me of my place, of this time, of my life, of this limited race.
I remember why to pick up my pace, to put one foot in front of the other, despite the rage, despite the pain, the lacking I feel inside.
I’m short on time, and burning fast, the candle’s flame never does last. So burning away some more, to let that feeling in, I soothe my troubled mind, before I delve the dark again.
As I grow and age I know the creaking joints and pain of cold.
Decaying form and thoughts go slow oh I hate this aging so.
Before my time I speed and go into the land of ages gold, the tarnish of youth polished to soon my form cracks and breaks, the weight too much to hold.
Both young and old forward I go, into tomorrow’s great unknown. With the silver of youth and ages unvarnished gold.
I walk amongst the distant stars while I rest apace alone.
I see that blessed dark call to me while I wander on my own.
Drawn to wonder, forced to doubt I march alone and forever without.
A place to call my own.
Echoes and currents of thoughts and ideas, of dreams that died and words left unsaid.
The regrets that haunt my sleep and rattle around inside my head.
Ephemeral currents of sadness too deep, of happiness unknown, and this anger I keep.
It’s like a ghost on my shoulder, the demon that speaks, it provides unspeakable inspiration, yet the cost is too steep.
The exile is lonely, the wanderer is cold, I stumble through this night, and all I want…
All I want is a home.
I walked into the sound, cold lapping out my feet and silence all around.
I walked into the sound, it’s about at my waist now, my problems back at shore and silence all around as I walked that misty morn out into the sound.
The water calm, my heart is still, the sound surrounds, the waves above me now.
All I am is silence deep within the sound, no problems, no worries, my weight is back at shore.
I hope, those that knew me, might forgive me once more.
Falling in to place pieces of pristine palaces parade down paradise lane.
The garden gathers grotesquely the rotten ripe fruit of of fallen forsaken fathers as morose mothers meander down the forgotten few road.
Children cry carelessly while carrying on without care and the garden gathers further.
Carrying burdens draped in cloth while those seen as burdens gather around, bound for the field of standing stones and burning pits the pristine palaces parade down paradise lane, a lane that no longer has a name as all fall to nothing.
I live within the arsonists choir, singing praises for raging fire.
We see it burn, we hear its call, we sing the fire’s blazing song.
I live within the arsonists choir and I am next, the chosen pyre.
Hear my song, sing my praise, until I am gone and only ash remains.
I do burn, I do rage, I am fire, the eternal blaze.
Burnt to ash, blackened dust, my praises sang by the arsonist choir.
That congregation of those waiting to embrace conflagration.
Feel the rage, feed the fire, embrace the pain, hold the flame.
Until not remains but ash and praise, in this…
The arsonist’s choir, our funeral pyre.
So The Foo Fighters caused this one, as it was inspired by their song “Something From Nothing” so figured I’d mention that one. Good song that one.