A salutory observation, to billionaire deletes, and devourers . ? Er leaders
Of their Nations.? Who are black in sin
Now satans kin..Awaiting destruction
Awaiting is it pain.? The rending of the
Souls in the lightless hell hole.' No measure of depth.' No rights there no-thing, ahead or
Left.! Or way to turn..As denied desires
White hot burn, yet you will not see that
Intensitiy isolation is in the cosmic reach
The ultimate lessons there ( you will teach ) you will apply the torture to what
Was once a soul..You will exist in regret
And be digested whole.' The scenes of joy
You might have known sealed off from
Where' will be your home, if you think the
Twisting of desire is a pain while here? then i
Have some news..Its bad no fear.! As you
Try to deliver your self your desires on
earth and find no real satisfaction..
Once there its well?? In un-measure infernally worse.'
I’m so greedy,
I’m nothing but a monster,
Reading stronger then I should,
Someone like me shouldn’t be loud,
I’m just a weak and honest fool they said,
But it was Beacues of them I became greedy.
Greedy for eyes,
Greedy for attention,
GREEDY ONLY ON STAGE,
When i perform on the stage,
I hope for nothing but one goal,
TO DEVOUR EVRY SHRED OF LIGHT,
To leave you all blind and lightless like me,
Like me when I’m not on stage like this now,
I plan to be the only light you’ll look at all show.
I know I’m greedy,
But that’s only because I’m pathetic,
A sin born from there up-comings.
-Kitsuko Dragonstar
The shadows become deep wells
pooling in her mind, she screams
silently listening to the labyrinth
of unending time,
pathways leading to trapdoors of pain
and lightless infinities of endless infinities…
Is there an answer,
is there a question,
is there a reason,
is there a mathematical equation
whose sum is the whole of creation,
will I win the game at the end of the simulation?
A claret mare,
slips through the lightless fields…
do I follow or does it follow me?
Milkweed drifts in the wind,
its intricacies caught in silence,
severed from any place of root or home,
do they know where they belong?
I drift, catatonic,
pulled toward a vague horizon
as if some austere hand grants favor -
or am I only imagining it?
Branches bow with dew,
a vessel of morning
in which the world seems briefly paused,
or is it always this still,
and I too blind to see?
Cherry blossoms, pale against gray…
hang like thoughts too fragile to speak.
I breathe.
The mare canters on,
and I, silent,
melt into the passing haze,
wondering if I will ever know
what carries me forward.
All the bold and strong
wilt when left alone,
any African Violet puts them to shame
for such hardy blooms thrive in the shade.
The mighty, the celebrated, need the sun
the very same sun that shines on us all,
they crave the bright light only for themselves,
that is why -
when they find themselves un-illumined,
they may turn into a little Hitler
or some other needy grim reaper.
Even poets go mad
when the world acclaims them too much,
see how they scribble in the gloom
of a lightless moon,
see how they ponder upon their genius
growing darker and weaker
day by day,
word by every anemic word.
The foot of the table
rose up to adjust the shape of my chin.
It was a glooming, looming 3 a.m.
when I saw the bedside clock
through that pitch dark
that occurs at the back of an eye
when time is a few decades too slow.
The table has put itself together
once more,
bought from IKEA, it took two days
to assemble, and a lifetime
to disassemble.
Now it's just a lightless prop
for a drooling jaw.
My dad is here offering advice,
when he was alive, he made televisions
out of the spare parts
of alien spacecraft.
I have no such skills, yet I know
that time occasionally
stands at the edge of a cliff
photographing
my fleeting existence,
as if it were a Dodo
straining to remember
how to fly.
In a distance beyond my ken,
table feet clip-clop away.
A loathsome lecher lurks along the long,
Lightless ledge, looking to lure a lost lamb
To lewd license, liquor, and lowlife lurch—
To the lesser lying league and layer.
Her limbs bloomed first
then her long sleek bones
formed angles
that seemed to touch
a roofless wonder.
The earth painted her
in a dark room.
A suggestion of starlight,
just an impression
flowers on the verge of her
when she is seen
as an instant memory.
A dark woman,
her soul as lightless as creation
before the light blinded us all
to the depth of God.
centered within mind caverns
constant lightless deep
echos reverberate
into end times
of all my existence
I live for one moment
where crack of light,
that is that Light,
will illuminate me
to light a trail
that leads me out
to a place where
darkness has gone to sleep
and within that beautiful
bright golden, nestling space
I find myself embraced
by all that can be explained
as I cross, wide eyed,
the boulevard laid
for new glorious sights
as I tread upon, step-by-step,
the cobblestone Way
until I come to the end
that becomes the beginning
I have always liked the hollow dark,
the cave, the sealed carcass of the night,
the lightless womb of the closed seed.
You said you were human,
and I laughed until my belly shook the earth.
I Imagined your bones cracking
from the heat of a great fire.
I ground my teeth with the ash
of a few brittle words.
"No one is 'human',
we are alien seeds replanted,
into a fertile blindness.
Humans are the shells,
the pods, the skin of a reality
they have yet to realize or reveal.
The garden,
what you call 'soul',
is a transplanted being,
it lives concealed,
within that alien you.
Keep that garden,
hidden from any who would,
proudly claim to be
remotely human!"
In those wilted hours
where the mind is a swimmer
in a lightless pool,
I thought I heard a sigh not of my own.
Heavy eyelids opened as I surfaced,
dark eyes searching an unfamiliar room.
Then that voice behind that sigh
took upon itself a form.
I gazed aghast
as my own body was revealed,
forced to watch as it stumbled blindly
from wall to wall,
then I also sighed suddenly perceiving
that this doorless place
was where all haunted nights
must come to, to once again recall
one bright fleeting day of joy
and how it died.
silenced may be the words of she
yet through the echoes of minds she walks
with the weave of thoughts you let her in
where shadows of night behold her beauty
she'll wind down paths you may not like
make no sense in the suspense of these or the
whereas darkness plagues like lightless night
yet you listen to what she sternly speaks of
until tears rain from a mind that's cloudless
and emotions peak like blades in spring's climes
your mind, it bleeds like morning rise and
your eyes, now opened wide, appear less starry
then these clouded overhead darkened skies
your mind less blank, your paper now full, and
your muse herself ... she spilled it all
ruthless, relentless, that's
emotionless at best
you shiver at what she speaks of
in the depths of thoughts so dark
yet you awake from her grasp and
see a clouded mind more bright!
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Lord Byron – She Walks in Beauty
I lost my mind
somewhere
between the seconds ticking
God left
and the devil punched in
Stray winds
dark and long
blew coldly on my paper sails
as
things I thought I knew
sank away
down into lightless fathoms
And when
in answer to my begging letters
a bashful dawn bled in
I made her promises
that somewhere
deep within
I knew
I’d only go and break
A shadow during the twilight which may obscure the appearance of a
human body that seeks to be seen; However, the dark side of the
shadow extinguish the lightless side of the Human body or it's
existence.
A Shadow can be seen as a two-faced being that obfuscate the
situation at hand. One would have to be very clever to interpret
the subliminal message of a shadow.
My arrival beat the sunrise;
it was still dark at the small jetty.
I dried the wet skiff, mind alert
to the soon to be lifting light.
Nearby,
an unseen water bird
clattered into the darkness.
Startled, I looked up,
there above me
a hole in that lightless sky
a circle of glowing orange
surrounded by the dim dawn.
‘I am blessed’ I thought.
As I gazed, the heavens opened,
a deluge of blacked-out rain smashed down
upon the sleeping land.
I got under the down-turned boat
and lay down
as the Ohio river faded away
replaced by a raging waterfall,
one that obliterated
that same sunrise
that had yet to show up -
until at last
that early bird I had heard
flew back to my ears and minds-eye.
Emerging from my makeshift shelter
I watched a rare black swan
settle and preen, drying its feathers,
as if it was perfectly natural
for a river to drown itself
under a small, up-side-down skiff.
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