White Noise and the Motherload of Dark Matter

"White Noise and the Mother Load of Dark Matter" underneath the static what exists is never seen nor heard for what it truly is the eyes and mind retaliate in the deciphering the invisible return each night and day to speak their voiceless peace like morse code forever circling in purgatory, non-replete repeat bats that are not bell free chasing nightingales and bluebirds from their keep owls hooting forever flocking souls speaking wondering jibberish, non-replete repeat like wretched pantoums, twisting verses in poetry, yet, interwoven quatrains never best for suites of 3, the delivery never quite complete, non-replete repeat when the view is really 2 what was begun never finished until the kalashnikov is held by 1; seldom do the sounds rhyme but they are coloured deep red bells, resounding and on fire, almost always ringing like alarm bells, sirens anti-clockwise, it visits the nightmare in reverse, a funeral in ghost's brain gone off again with Death in Dickinson hearse unheard, ignored, as ridiculous, never quite believed, for it's thought as too absurd the jury in, the verdict passed, tucked away, non-existent, they think ghosts in a good haunting mostly never ever do retreat evidence suggests, daily they need to imprint their glowing vespers versatile and explicit pushed through a wall, that leaks and bleeds the translation of it all eventually arrives as seen terribly memorable, and concrete some say they require an exceptional exorcising, and a rollicking good feed silent wars thought dead and gone are never soundless, they never sleep for eternity in expulso, is granted, hell, it's never ever neat while on the outside tap dancing demons keep under the radar their physical existence untainted and treacly sweet they smile as if they will never die, nor their tawdry actions and a maker meet that which doth review and eventually questions their right to a blessed seat in that golden place - Hotel Pearly Gates, a table away from brimstone lavatories and boiling sirocco heat demons hide in their camouflage, versatile personalities psychopathique blooming in dung cultivating flying monkey screams yards of ingenious lies selling their souls for freedom sweeping truth underneath well-hidden carpet crimes along with its companion, covetous buzzard that, which in its reptile beak stole something very precious from benign bluebird’s retreat the buzzard, seen for what it is, two faces and snake eyes making noises like a Lyrebird is through the flimsy veil seen, at last by the unseen, for what it truly is true medusa, barren monster sitting in its nest, obsessed, possessing its long-wanted prize what it never is nor was, a hellish story this, of rotting skeletons, ghouls and goals, and true Queen, robbed a nightmare in a living dream the usurper, sits planted in artificial turf polishing its lies with Mr Sheen it wears a sainted halo, of no great worth, so well-worn, it’s bent the one, that isn’t the other takes the true other’s sainted dream, but this sad truth, is seldom ever seen The Lyrebird wears its fool’s gold halo like a well-won paper crown, false queen in reality, it is a circus ring that slips, eventually the noise of truth will wear its grasping fakeness down sought to be seen as holier than thou, oh no, it remonstrates it never did transgress finding homes for the homeless, while the other goes without kicked to the curb and left rotting on non-replete repeat graces once given by the ghost as gift, for all the forsaken good it did underneath continues the brashness of white noise a relentless harbinger of poise messages each night and day, arise, indistinguishable at first but one way or another the haunted, make their voices clear as a resounding bell, they most always will eventually, with or without Pentecost, have their call for true justice heard the truth, that long-time kept in locked dungeon released by destined fate, escapes non-replete repeat it’s seen and known by those it's meant to touch there is a moral within the story, nightmare music never sits alone, while white noise crushes dark matter to move miracles through suffocating concrete walls white noise befriends the mother load of dark matter it's never gibberish, nor empty purile chatter always - this ghost story for all good boys and girls, that matter and, a neat serving of Hell, for black-listed, two-faced snake-eyed buzzards and soul-sucking vampiric ghouls (LadyLabyrinth / 2022) Dungeon Ambience/1hr/Loop https://youtu.be/lnJNkjORboc Mr Sheen https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mr_Sheen Lyrebird https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lyrebird White Noise/EVP/Dark Matter/Haunting/Ghosts/Demons "Ghost Wiring" / Neko Case. https://youtu.be/uvHAnb7z2jM "Things that Scare Me" / Neko Case. https://youtu.be/EBLI9jq6tUY "Black Listed" / Neko Case. https://youtu.be/AMgkop02h7s "Deep Red Bells" / Neko Case. https://youtu.be/ScT9eo5cljk Emily Dickinson "The Soul Has Bandaged Moments" https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/56453/the-soul-has-bandaged-moments-360 Emily Dickinson "Tell All the Truth but Tell it Slant" https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/56824/tell-all-the-truth-but-tell-it-slant-1263 Broken World https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/broken_world_1372090