to crystallize the second

Does one always endeaver
to crystallize the second?
To clutch the clock's rapid hands
and fixate upon the moment?
And marvel at its gleaming craft,
the pattern of its puzzle,
why cannot one dismiss time's grasp
and against the stillness nuzzle?
If one could savor eternity
in one second of one day,
if one could wrest the fertility
of life with time tossed so away,
could not the bewitching glory
of the sullen silence of pure existance
clean of the ticking folly
of seconds consistent in persistance
uncloak the anguish of life,
dismiss its degredation,
restore the vivaciousness of youth,
revive the affirmation
of consecration?

Innocent love

Eerie is the tune of love,
too unpredictable a haven,
and striking and quick as the cherished dove,
but ugly and fiesty as the raven.

Its melody is murmured, muffled,
resonating in the ears of youth,
and these ears of disillusion shuffle
the truth of inevitable rebuke.

The pure and expecting mentality
nurtures a notion too naive,
beholds a love eternally
too innocent by all means.

Exquisite may be the hearth constructed
in minds with no fantasy constricted,
though what does cleave the treasured dream,
but lone growing age so it would seem.

The gift

Had the soul been granted
the most precious gift
or the foulest filth?
For the gift..
spoiled as it had claimed it never would.
And the soul was stricken with disease
that the rotted gift had spread to it.
The soul was punished
for accepting the gift.

Tricked heart

The heart was love and lust,
but mostly selfishness.
And when love it was given,
the heart devoured the delightful dish.
But the heart yearned for excess,
for all love that did exist,
but the heart was granted no more,
but torture in place in the blissful dish.

Time Vs. Loss

Many times the sun and moon,
ever trustworthy, rose and fell,
but could not in any amount
ever the despair of loss dispell.

What disappointment

The efforts from me drained
constructed what but disdain
for in all my words concocted
is lone the failure I've adopted.
Each articulation once of joy
proves now merely a cruel decoy.
Pretty was but petty,
obscured by falsity;
Pride was all disgrace,
behind a fragile face.

Desensitization

Relishing the agony
of stinging nightmares' mark
is a trick whose goal most cunning
does hamper coming dark,
for what is sunlight of a dream
but one of terror's absence?
And all that does grim fantasy clean
is having known too well its talons.

Lies

Does the passage of my righteous
feign for sake of wrong?
Does my tunnel weep, blasphemous
in its seemingly syrupy song?
Is my voice merely caniving,
a plague my eyes from blinded?
I shall halt my every striving,
for evil's in all I've kindled.

What world.

My paws roam the realm
of a world caving in,
an ocean one moment calm
abruptly thrashed by wind.
Can not the threshold bare
my minuscule requests?
But see the gates of paper tare,
a tear such a conquest.

conquered

Who could but gaze
in trance perplexed
but all amazed
at their own conquest
For authority derived
of the stature of nature
could all blessings deprive
and the weathered conjecture
of worthiness in the once blessed life.
Stripped of all nobility,
the joy and claim of merit,
crumpled is the weak by cruel authority
to triumph, its royalty blaring.

Moonrays In The Forest

Many beaming moonrays,
coiled through the trees,
glided against the dark haze,
to rinse like would the seas.
The forest, furious in luster,
grew to love the cloud
of radiation bouncing faster
than any a thing by laws unbound.
The thickets stretched their arms
in a breeze to reach the source
of the glow by shadow unharmed
traversing every course.
Branches reflected the beam,
the cold, polished stream,
and were purified by its steam.

I need

My heart is dry and tethered,
enthusiasm weathered,
for all my words were severed
by the knife of fault
and wherein inside my vault
is that tumultuous fault
but within my own guilty soul?
My doubt has taken more than its toll,
it's pried from me my only gold
that was the sun to melt the mold
of desire to rid my last hope.
But hope's all plummeted down the hole
the gaping hole my knife of doubt cold had sold
to my helpless soul.

night's kings

There is a tune
aflame with dread
that stalks as moon
gazing overhead.
It chokes the air
with fearful lightning
that caught in stare
more gorged its frightening.
It is the caw
of the night's old kings
who sweep till dawn
their mighty wings
All in excitement
to kill the things
of any contritement
could from in them bring.
The kings wear crowns
of a thorny sort
and on them frowns
for a treasure's abort.
But grim as are
the ghastly grins
reversed to char
audience with sins,
they are not at the hands
of joy's depart;
they rest in lands
rather of joy's sort.
And all they crave
and pine aloud
is not to good save
but it's essence drown.
The kings of night
are cruel in might
to kill the sight
of day's benign light.

worry

The pulse is a slow bubble
beating against ribs from within like prison bars
as they encage the melody in the rubble,
the polluting steam of troubled cars.
For the scent of flesh inside is tainted,
stricken with a rash of illness,
as bones can with lone worry tremble sated
for no hope is encased as any trifles.
And how it baffles the heart to think
no anxiousness could be relinquished,
but the skin is immune to the heart's wink
as its hope silently diminishes.
And the beat never manages a pause
in all its traumatic little taunts,
never a sliver of hate away it tosses,
its buried too well 'neath its noise so gaunt.

Was It You Who Crushed Me?

A swooning hawk did pluck my fate,
The only thing to dissipate
behind the moon, a diamond great.
My clock was tossed across the stars
shooting galaxies abound afar
to shrivel back from its long soar
to a crinkled pundle, spin nevermore
to catch the crimson flame of adore
as it once soared.
For what has trampled its fluid flight,
what tempted evil to the night
but the feet of agony for withering sight
of all that ever blazed any bright.
What cruel hands had from the fingers sprouted
to push the plush from twinkles now pouted
and put such pity in the fire shouted
But the villian was all to it amounted.
And what a sinister did clutch the moon,
what did crush the lovely womb
of that delightful fume to insert its gloom
and now what's brimming but deathly doom.

The Angel

From the mournful depths of a sinister cave
teeming with ancient spiteful shards
arose the angel from its dusty grave
to unbury herself and all fragments discard.
Springing through a beam of gleaming
flourescence she did tenderly make her ascent
in flaming skin from which a glint was steaming
and neath eyes from which flickering hazel was sent.
Her wings coated rich in metallic gold,
she spoke eloquence my heart did behold.
She wrapped me in felicity,
tearing me from my crippled seat
to toss me in her joyous sea.

Loss

Once, I did foreshadow
what was to come about;
I knew the notions gathered
would be a grievous clout.
Palpaple was the past
but even more its aftermath,
for nothing else could have cast
from the precious marvel last
but my anguish so steadfast.
For inevitable was its retire,
and I could not extinguish,
could not deplete the fire
of somber when did it singe the attire
of my sweet serpent of a liar
that was my own soul on some level higher
of sad, a sadness for the absence most dire.
And a fallicious snake I had been to me
for ever clutching the cruel decree
to think somehow it would not leave.
But abandoned have I been,
and where fault lies is not wherein
nor who on but rather on my own sin
which pressed for loss, no battle's win.

Cigarette

A cigarette is all that rests
upon the lips above the breasts
of the swooning dove on her tainted chest
for her heart has bled a soup
thick to clog her throat
and all sweet now with which she has to bloat
is lone the sacchariferous smoke

Melancholy Sky

Tis a somber tune
that crept upon the stars.
with distortion does it croon
as melancholy it regards.
And melancholy's all it is,
the sky in its abbhored fit
as it relinquishes the bliss
once floating with a goldness lit.

Hipocracy

To negotiate the righteous
is to stir about the wrong,
For what seeker of any kindness
could withstand the bloodshed long
as the weaponry does tower up
just as does the sinister prevail
when permitted is it to seep
beneath the good's shielding veil.