Luminous

When a pinched sparrow draws its last breath
                       i cling to you
When the ages fulfill their doom
                       i see through you
In Time... in feast... in sin... in tempest...
                       i succumb... to you,
like a fugitive sunbeam succumbs to an unfledged mother's smile

I can see clearly now... through pillars of absolution,
unfathomable in the firmest clutch of deliverance
                       let me enfold you!..
and turn your last breath to ash and stone... and healing feather...
so i can live again... in Thy embrace!

Memories are clouds traversing the rear windows of the soul
In peace... in war... in truce... in sweet surrender

Through gaping chasms in pain and deep sorrow,
i flee a stream of penitent pilgrims,
just to flare in the grace of your last fallen angel...

Original artwork: "hades", by Kunstfotografie(Johanna Knauer)
http://www.johannaknauer.de/
https://www.facebook.com/Kunstfotografie.Johanna.Knauer/
http://enaston.deviantart.com/art/hades-658950096

Music, courtesy of LauG
https://soundcloud.com/laug/forgiven-and-forgotten

Woman

Woman is the ovum and the fetus
She ebbs and flows, like Time used to
From Eve to Hannah, from Grace to Delusion...
Woman is the Answer to All

There will come times when Love shall fail
and the green pastures of blessing shall wither and perish
Times, when the race of men will scatter and fall
But, not Today... not Here... not Now!
For now, Time skims afloat in the realm of you... Woman!

I met you in the caves of oblivion
I lingered, while you moaned and suffered in the woods
still, managing to stress your smile over the tree tops
I watched... and learned... how to endure
and persist... and set one's doom free

Free at last... oh Woman of dreams!
Do not abandon me now
For, i still don't know how to suffer... and endure... and persist
while you smile... skimming the surface of the trees
above the hollow of the Earth they called your resting place
Forgive me... as you did back then
when future came to pass...

Original artwork: "portrait-konfrontation", by johanna-knauer-
http://www.johannaknauer.de/portfolio/anima/

https://soundcloud.com/eonsounds/memories

Lie... or Not

What i like most in a lie
is, that it does bear the very nature of us all
You don't have to be polite, kind or patient, in order to lie
You don't need to be harsh, cruel or mischievous to lie

A lie, is a lie... regardless

It ebbs and flows like rain, orgasmic fluids and ill fate
You may do some good when you lie
Or maybe, polish the ugliness of the scariest truth
But, in no case, does it embellish the wrongful comportment that you chose to embrace

The lie is the result... the aftermath... the after
It is rather the consequence of an act than the choice to trigger the specific act
The act reflects our commitment to stay true to our nature
In whatever side of the Moon we chose to shine

The lie bears the very nature of us all
Not our will to endorse it... Or Not.

Artwork: "bleed on", by lostoneself

Eastern Promise

The Time is restless. Restless, as the glorious wind who flings his grace over the treetops. As years go by, i get the feeling that every time i look to the East, my scars ache and bleed of unsung lemon tree stigmata and of olive tree tears, speared through and through by malice. There was this girl i met once on the island of the limestone that grows over blood stains and memory loss veins. She had amber eyes and her heart was dripping honey flakes, every time she was gazing across the swollen chest of the ocean. I could feel an unbearable sorrow dwelling in the very depths of her soul. I was in love back then and i could not realize that it was the mark i was bearing on my western doom since cradle, that was causing all her suffering. Years went by... and i left... never to see her amber eyes again. The stained glass she had painted all over the aura of our nest in colors of love, lust and affection, withered and faded away. Like the smoke of an old pipe, diffused in memory and time.
I still think of her. I still miss... my eastern promise.
But, then again, i somehow managed to keep her face young and unspoiled in my heart.
This cruel, western heart of mine.


Artwork: "why cant we reach the sun", by kayjensen

Vanity

Will you suffer me, while dreaming
will you flee a tear in time
I have sowed my tomb with pest wreaths
and sewed yellow stripes of dread

Bear my fever as night's halo
drown my fear in your fest
Send your frivolous misfeasance
so i can hoist my roots from grass

As wind gasps, i flinch with tremor
fields of gold, have turned to stone
Oh! How memory deceives me
up to swap your kill with fame


Artwork: "fugue state", by menervatau

Mythos

When night falls, strangers meet in the shadows. They cling to each one's doom, they murmur in circles: "Blessed be Thy name... and Thy scent... and Thy wisdom... But, something lurks in the dark... and looms up, as the hour grows thin. It is a pest?.. Is it a white noise?.. I really can't tell.

As pale moonlight approaches the crest of the Alpha, a moth slithers in flame through the dark. A bell rings. And along, it brings the high-pitched titter of a laughter. Is it a demon's rattling?.. Is it a spat's pasting?.. My mouth lacks of words to be uttered.

The gate opens... A gaze... a maze... and a leap of faith. I want to be you. Oh! How i wish to be someone else!.. and wriggle my doom in Time's vortex.

So... it began. First, there were three. The Breath. The Sight. And the Blight.
It... came through the darkest hour. And caressed the loins of the Earth. To the point, when its belly ached and convulsed with fret and frisson.

                                                                                                                                 

                                                                                                                            To be continued...


Artwork: "Help", by MissGribouille

Heaven and Hell

Snow me some tears of sweet Heaven
so i can moan out of joy and elation
The Kings of void taught me tales of illusion
and the child with no name pledged for my posthumous fame

People abide in the light of creation
still they forget how to bloom in one's life
Is it any wonder that fame grows its feathers in shadows
but its thorn grows and feeds of thy pain

Snow me flakes that are sowed in Hell's bedlam
so i can grow and prosper as sane
The whores of men fell in love with dark angels
and our doom came to pass

in no vain

People seek the sweet fever of wisdom
but they forge their sore fate in drained veins
Is it any wonder that shame smothers echoes of conscience
as our leper skin thrives in God's name.

L for Loss

I had to think about you last evening. I had to, even though i was reluctant to. You see, many years have passed since the day i last set eyes on you. Bright as the morning star, carrying the scent of a lost cause. There are times since, i felt like a child. Child of an unborn father, adorned with feathers of charcoal and tender myths of absolution. This woman who i carry dear in a forgotten memory stain, is the reason for me being punished for turning into a slave, all tattered and torn. I was free once. I was free to embrace the vanity of the existence, without foreboding the inevitable laceration of the abominable lie i let myself crawl into, since cradle.
The war is over for me now. As is the chance to vindicate a once existing flotation into the linearity of time.