Posts Tagged ‘emotions’

I’m an absent friend,
Like a revenant,
I’m not about much,
You can’t always see me,
Not hear my speech,
But I’m there,
Only a call away,
To hell with reason,
Miles be damned,

I’m not the only one,
You have a warhost behind you,
Every einherjar you’ve befriended,
Any and all willing to fight for you,
So if the clouds grow too fierce,
Or a fool is nipping your flanks,
Just give a little whistle,
And I’ll come running,
Mad grin and top hat in tow.

There is a golden road afore you,
Afore us all,
It’s a track to virtue,
Gilt stone after gilt stone,
A journey to be a good soul,
It is no easy road,
Feeling like a savage incline even on the flat,

It takes temperance to reach the zenith,
A conscience,
There will be temptations off the road,
Jackals built of greed,
Landmines of notoriety in the dirt,
Enticing sculptures of carnal flesh,
Vice beside the aurum,

Don’t get turned around,
Keep plugging away,
Foot after foot,
Year after year,
Your sweat shall keep you true,
Few perceive the golden road,
Fewer still remain good.

After that Oppenheimer blast,
That argument of explosive parameter,
Followed by a shockwave of deafening silence,
There comes the nuclear winter,
A fallout of two suitors,

It’s a boreal wasteland resembling the space before,
A toxic space without light or love,
Replete with the radiation of resentment,
A shattered ruins of love nests,
There is no warmth to be gleaned,

And like that bomb,
This is no natural event,
Hearts like atoms must touch,
This cold is the stuff of sorrow,
And a winter that could last millennia.

You know,
Inside your head during any dilemma,
A contest is played out,
A game of chess with one player,
Yet two distinct perspectives,
And only a single piece wearing your face,
A mirror lies at each end,
Straight-laced and logical on one side,
Flamboyant and passionate the other,
A reptile versus a clown,
Taking turns at your heartstrings,
Your next action on the line,
Whomever wins,
You may lose.

Mother,
Mummy,
This scrawl is all for you,

You’re my biggest fan,
My support network,
My inspiration,
My maternal cheerleader,
Solace is wherever you are,

Every trial I face,
Each scratch and broken bone,
Or tumbling down the foulest fissure,
I stand stalwart,
Because you’re there,

I may be a mummy’s boy,
But there’s no shame,
Quite the contrary,
I’m proud to be your son,
I love you mum.

Eyes are the windows to the soul,
That’s what they say,
Yet apertures work both ways,
Our souls experience the universe through them,
But it’s often difficult to look outward,

Blue and amber and malachite,
But does a man always see?
Just because his eyes are open,
Does not mean he can perceive,
We miss so much,

A man is not omniscient,
Just which details does he identify?
Which fae clouds and rough seas,
Which of the seven wonders of the world,
Whom are the souls with which his eyes connect,

The sun and Earth show us so much,
Colours and shapes and madness,
Yet those prisms are limited by our oculi,
Which light does shine through those portals?
And can we recognise it?

That time at the lake,
As the mist looked on expectedly,
When I cried sad crystals,
And they flew skyward,
Joining hands with constellations,
It was then that I knew,
As my eyes still spilled celestial ink,
That the night sky was built on hurt lovers,
Cosmic beauty derived from pain,
The night was an anthology of romantic tragedies,
A sky of stories,
A landscape painting of bloodily cut diamonds,
Bled on to the firmament by the brush of our tears.

Let me tell you a story,
A yarn of spies and the spied upon,
Of a world under our own,
A world of shadow and masks,
A world we are not privy to,
For the better,

She is a woman,
But also an agent,
A clandestine weapon with fake lashes,
All false wigs and suppressors,
A dame of deception,
She had slain tyrants while wearing unfamiliar faces,
She once had a lover,
But the flag stole him under its yolk,

He is a man,
But also a tool,
An extension of his nations left hand,
All handguns and sabotage,
An artist of wetwork,
No foreign dossier is safe from his gloves,
He longed for a normal life once,
But the flag kept drawing him back,

It’s a tale of two nations,
A love story spelled out in gunshots and dead drops,
Of two souls under opposing masters,
Once brought together by their humanity,
But rent asunder by the flags inhumanity,
Forced in future to kiss via crosshairs.

Atop a statue once depicting liberty,
Perches a foul creature,
An avian actor,
Decaying piece by ruinous piece,
A scavenger feigning regality,
A vulture wearing the feathers of an eagle,
Mould and droppings falling upon a flag,

Nonetheless this animal is loved and reviled both,
Regarded in both sycophantic and tyrannical aviaries,
It wants not for fodder,
The carcass of a republic lies below,
So it rends at putrid meat no longer protected,
Picking at the scraps of the citizenry,
The flesh of a populace with potential,

Each wing of this beast is dyed an opposing shade,
One crimson,
The other a dull blue,
Battling over which part to gnaw at,
Even as they rot and fester,
But make no mistake,
Both factions are wings of the same rotten vulture.

Do you feel that bass?
That tone in the atmosphere,
A low hum in sequence,
Pounding like artillery,
You begin to sway at the sound,
Intoxicating as it is,
It’s a legal high,
A sonic assault upon your composure,
A hysteria of the limbs,
It threatens to shatter your shell,
Make you move against your judgement,

It’s only a matter of time,
The beat continues unabated,
You’ll dance to this bassline,
With a grin that’d make the joker blush.