--OF PRAISED CREATION--
Under the monastery's shadow
He mispronounces sanctified names.
The wolves ravish his home
And the folly followers prevail.
Comprehension takes inhuman forms;
The cold of the soil makes his body shiver,
The moon shines, impartial and inanimate
A light so dead that darkness invades.
The worms he feels on his chest now smile
Knowing that their servants trust them.
Air, the precious gift is fading-
Punishment for no longer being blind.
Soil now sleeps for minutes around him
And pressure drains blood from his limbs;
Hearbeat an echo - he dies without dreams...
Deplorable creation of envy and jeer.
--BELIEF--
Melting my solid existance into the loneliness I reach out to at night, I know I'll never escape it. The cursed time dilates, so seconds morph to infinite cells of cyclic eternity promising me nothing... I fear the moment when the forbidden escape remains the last solution for meeting the universal nothingness I expect... A obscure, quiet and motionless paradise for my soul to cry along with the angels and the flowers... I lost a key so long ago - now all is left is waiting for the ocean to move inside me and close all dors.
Eternally, nothing richer, nothing poorer.
--ESCAPE--
One universal labirinth, like a quiet sunset over flaming ruins shows his face of existential illusion. Bringing nothing more than good will, joy and smiles, it's malice and lies burn holes into my soul, as persistent, pestinential smell of rotting flesh invades the air around me, infecting it. The incarnation of pain appears in front of me, with tears of blood and eyes of ice calling me into heavenly redemption... That universal ghost, I see no more.
--SPECTACLE OF DENIED GLORY--
Sent from above, his will is insignifiant.
Flames of ice and the shivering sun-
He holds in his hands the secrets to make him supreme.
Buried in the dirt of the mortal's sin
His duty of purification is obvious...
Heart moved mecanically, beating to the clock,
as no soul dwells within his particles.
"Kill the traitors, kill all of them
And upon my name take the revenge as in the prophethy..."
Images run alive in front of him,
Messages, no doubt, from gracefull deities;
Warnings raise from bleeding earth
Unable still to scream their fears and be heard.
Under burden of his footsteps the world sings
Captive still, never seeing the full picture
But never in denial of existance.
He lookes at his hands, dredfull and morbid painting!
For as silence takes it's trone
In the once flourishing society,
The stars fade one by one, the sun breakes it's circle,
Hands reach out from the grave
And gravity passes out from fatigue
(Tears now free to fall into the sky).
No question lives now, regrets take familiar forms...
But time now lives only in his own memory,
And nothing is left but the Thought.
His mission ends, yet he still looks at his hands.
The eight day ended, and everything is quiet once again.
--A GAME FOR THE BLIND--
Ignoble imagery of human decadence. My tears turn to shadows. Aware that tears cry only on the faces of angels, she takes no shame... The serpent and the god of holy engaged in a grotesque, friendly game involving rotting flesh and poisoned blood. Silent moans of doubt lost within the endless existential carnival fade to black in the distance.
we sleep united, simulating the escape we await...
Inexorable destiny frightens me still. As long as the pure is the beautiful and the beautiful is the holy, I rest assured that her dark, liquid presence shall never vanish from my eyes... I fear not the dusty grave, but I fear the soulless ocean of time drowning us.
One day, this dream will be over.
Ignorance crowned king over a spectacle of hypocrisy and lies; rays of sun becoming needles to my body but I take comfort in one kiss.
We alone exist. We wonder the dense infinity. She raises her diamond eyes from the puppet show and finds my own.
We see.
