The silt accents with no regards, it works steady to cover the earth.
The only exception way up above, there it scatters where the prisms give birth.
Yet down here it only blankets and buries below.
When there's no decision, it truly just goes where it goes.
My desire is to go with the unknown, where there is just knowledge in bowls.
Why do you wish for what's in the water.
Down there is the burial of every old ship of slaughter.
So this ground we walk is in its own right damned.
Walk up on me and you'll be moshed and your face will be slammed.
Categories:
moshed, art,
Form: Free verse
It’s bleak and wet, the wind tangos the rain,
And I sit here cosy and warm,
All rugged up alone, only my memories to ponder,
During this wonderful thunderstorm.
My mind wonders to a day, I fondly recall,
A crazy rock concert in a zoo,
Where people moshed and fought, and danced the trance,
A spiritual kind of voodoo.
The music was loud, Spiderbait and Grinspoon,
Two severe, no kid stuff, sort of bands,
Tattooing music and songs that hundreds of thousands
Of stoned up people understands.
Then my mind wonders, with just one or two sentences,
No rhyming scales or anything required,
Could you describe a happy day in your life, a memorable day,
When you got exactly what you desired?
Categories:
moshed, crazy, happy,
Form: Quatrain