Crystal bed of sentient quiescence

amidst the dark bedazzled

tombstone of solar haze.

A night of sentiment bedighted

in grim and graceful lace,

watering her wake with dry tears

of lucid bewilderment.

A brilliant spear imbued

with roses and nightshade,

the warm solitude untouched,

immaculate by virtue of rebirth.

The altar of sacrificial breath

for the alluring ambrosia of the dead

tells the tales of an ancient distress:

a sorrow of loving hell unredeemed

by the armament of the deluded flesh.

Murmurs in the daytime speck,

kaleidoscopes and swirling strings of otherness

summoning the rising of the abeyant armies

through the yearning veils into the chamber

of nestling consciousness.

~*~

Murmurs in the air,

spectacles of colours and silhouettes

dancing ‘fore the heart whose river has run

into the high seas with nothing more

than the tearing love for the Black Star

which underlies the theatre’s spotlight.

~*~

Murmurs murmuring ever

the disavowal of tales oozed from opiate crevices

of malison and true derangement.

Murmurs of the innate throne

which hand pries open the torture room of sol.

Murmurs, quiet memories of dusk –

the revelry of Soul bleeding art

into the listless ball of fleshy command.

“You can sleep”, common sense has it out for me. As if I was unaware of the various plays I inflict upon myself!

“I know”, I lay back as I wait for a follow up which does not come. It knows that I know that it knows there is no definite reason as to why any creature would choose to inflame the fires in the pits of impious thoughts.

Ever since I filled the air with smoke for the hissing tongued man in ragged green-grey clothes, the world became a maze-like box. These walls are not as solid as they seem, I know. And the man must know that I know and will continue to find more nuances in the days to come.

Blessed be the fiend who hosts the venom of newfound hope! Let him work miracles if his name glistens in manners most favourable.

“Again, you can sleep,” common sense returns with visions of enticing shores.

“I would tell you to shut up, but I like you too much”, I sigh as I try to recall where I last saw my socks, “Twenty-four hours are not enough for all the hellish crevices I wish to explore”.

Image by skeeze from Pixabay

Be ever mindful of your speech.

All you say and allow in – even music – acts as a spell upon your being, and not all influence is there to benefit.

Quiet the mind, and learn to listen.

Take control of yourself, and be the master creator you were born to be.

Fear is an illusion.

Despise it and rise above it.

Transmute it into courage.