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.

Burning (All is Flame)

I slam my head against the wall that I built before my fall I can’t stop this burning.

This flame inside my mind, that tells me I am nothing, that all I am is dust and envy with nothing to show and nothing to gain.

Still, I slam my head into this wall and bleed and bleed with nothing to show for it but pain and rage.

And yet, I still exist, I still reside, in this empty life with this empty smile of mine.

Burning, burning, burning, I can’t seem to stop this incessant yearning.

Fingers moving across the letters, fingers moving and dripping red blood.

The ink drained from my soul, writing out my life and letting go the flood.

I empty myself out, pour it onto the page and all I ever get is filled with more and more rage.

I exist and I bleed and I cut with these words, cutting out the blood to silence the scream I need to release more and more.

This endless rage, this endless seething, leaking blood red fury in a sea of green envy.

Too foolish to admit, to kind to blame, all I am is alone, and everything is bright red flames.

 

Solitude (Exile)

I think aloud and my thoughts do echo through out the noiseless sound,

the rumbling ramble that is my mind, sitting in shadows alone, paying my due time.

Caged in self imposed exile, chained to solitude as all I know.

I can’t understand how to leave this castle I’ve built when it’s all I have and all I own.

Nor do I have the keys to open the gates to another, to let someone in.

So I’m trapped in this citadel, this castle of mine, with only my thoughts and my echo as a friend to my darkened time.

If only I’d not locked the door behind me, if only I’d not built my walls so high.

Maybe then at least the moon or sun could be my friend, something else to get me by.

But alas it’s not to be, I’ll be trapped in this darkness forever with not even shadows for company.

I’ve found now, with this exile of mine, perhaps it better to risk the dagger and open the door, than dwell and silence without a single smile for warmth.

Grey Moment

Standing on the shore of what was, I watch what is drift away. It left me behind standing stranded on a beach with no name.

A place long in the past but never outside of now. Where nothing matters and nothing cares and all the world is gray nothing in the span of a single moment that stretches forward into eternity.

I stand there, waiting, and nothing passes, nothing moves. There is only myself and that grey moment, and the silence of the weight of the ashes that have become my home.