Stranger Things
From strange elixir of mind
a form walks in forming strange lines,
in a poem of a chant of a spell,
encantrain echoes it's well.
Where roses bloom,
dead and spirits recite their bleed
of encantation- room draining, waning light.
CHORUS:
From strange minds
come strange lines
in pageantry.
Where roses bloom and spirits spin the room,
in midnight's lunacy.
in midnight's syrup of black-strap in the room,
clouding your head,
in stirrups raising the dead
from loopholes airborne and bred by your kindly sin unwombed.
in a poem of a chant of a spell,
encantrain echoes it's well.
Where roses bloom,
dead and spirits recite their bleed
of encantation- room draining, waning light.
ALT CHORUS:
Lament of whispers vine
through ancient grove, to mind
to sweet ache's yearning,
and echoes draw awake
dimensional gate, signal fires warning.
Wakened fire's burning.
As the parchment is unlocked
pen is hexed by automatic writing
and shadows dance in circled inklings,
in haunting's grace,
idead tinkering.
Hides true face,
under weeping skies,
enigmatic, charismatics taking shape
as curses hit the page, puts veil over your eye,
wants to squash it like a grape and drink the whine.
Fires raise higher in the distant near,
dimensional blocks unlocked
by your cog-turn of wheel inside a wheel.
Slanted things tinkle in your head
the formula of their release.
CHORUS:
With curses harked upon the cursed page.
An imprint left, a pageantry unraveled,
dawns new age.
Like roses blooming, as spirits touch the skies
like smoke from a furnace,
thick as a forest-loom by locust infest,
blacking out the moon.
Upon the spectral stage it unfolds,
from depths of strange aeons,
where even Death may die to.
In pageantry of words, emotions form ancient bones,
a cacophony of verses that mesmerize and phantomime toys- in -the -attic-ombs.
In midnight's lunacy, where shadows prance,
roses bloom, as spirits in a trance.
Each line a brush-stroke,
taints the room with smoke of the unholy nearer.
Stirring souls, invoking them there.
painting the air, like a wicked sneer behind you
in the mirror.
ALT CHORUS:
Black vape clouds forming attache
siphoning - brain wave honing
stormbringer - harbinging -
your game of own dethroning.
With pen hexed in their brine and ink blown dry,
entities awaken, leaving their claim,
poking at your nye.
Staked by stoke of residue.
So appreciative of a fool.
Under weeping skies, veiled in mystery,
spirit symphony of you,
in offering.
Copyright ©
Jude Herrick
|