Aging

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.

Echoes & Currents/Wanderer’s Demon

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 am Silent Within the Sound

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.

Paradise Lane

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.

The Arsonist Choir

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.

~~~~~~~~Afterword~~~~~~~~

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.

Repeat

A scratching silence fills my life, repeating repeating an endless loop.

Nothing changes, nothing moves, the needle on the record skips and skips, an endless loop.

Repeating, repeating never moving, nothing new, always used, left behind.

No reason to smile, no reason to be, this endless repeat is all thats left of me.