The Killer That is Quiet

Silence like a steel fist strikes blows upon me,
ever wrathful on my brow where pours my perspire,
sweet with all that was good now hastily fleeing me.
For the quiet is a killer of truth
as it does vanquish the elegance of life,
as it pries from me my trifles,
the trinkets of gleaming joy I beheld.
Secluded, I am bound to this peninsula,
connected to something somewhere,
but the route I cannot comprehend.
My soul forever parted from the bonds of what is real,
does shower out the wails of wounds I cannot heal.
Oh, the dreadful lull!
Within it I do sulk,
Pouting, moaning, where has gone the familiar melody!
The music of faces in company!
From my distractions, they are freed.
And, lone, I discern the distance of the truth.
As silence has melted it here.

My VampiraVampira

Royal maine befalls marble breasts,
Heavy eyelids lay upon fiery eyes,
And a pout injected with strength
does cover the majestic fangs.

Vampira, vampira!
The name a scream and echo
like the calamity that is her shadow
or any trace of her royal soul
fierce it is a piercing moan..

Mmmmhm.

Gaze beneath the hazy sky
to recollect that instant
in which what mattered had all been gathered
and bound to loves unconstant.

Turn back to stare down
the path so quickly paved;
Strain to recall what lies
gently tucked within the haze.

Slowly tug the clock's hands back;
Glare through the mirror as time retracts,
And see those tricks, ticks of the clock,
Cannot now a thing of love mock.

For all that consumed the good of the bright
sprung forth true meaning of what is so light.
The wrongs that fell upon those moments to be vanished
can now alone make sturdier pure triumphs oh most lavish