Names In Stone

You once looked like heaven,
And words you spoke beckoned me to Elysium.
But your body is buried now,
And you lay in pine below the earth,
Writhing with worms in your rot,
Your scent damns me to Hades’ hell.

The crimson sun paints the world as hell,
Red light descending from heaven.
Day turns to night making a spectacle of rot,
The receding sun as far away as Elysium.
Night time sees shadows cast across the earth,
The moon shines dark now.

I’m looking at your grave now,
Feeling you return the gaze from hell.
I kneel in front of your stone in the earth,
The stars watch lazily from heaven.
On the wind I begin to smell the flowers of Elysium,
In front of your tombstone are roses and rot.

Sometimes I wish I could also rot,
In fact I wish it now,
The want to walk along the river near Elysium,
With you it won’t feel like hell.
I lament you being lifted up to heaven, Leaving me stranded here on earth.

After hours my knees leave the cold earth,
And I walk away to stave off the rot.
I glance up towards heaven,
The moon is bright now.
Behind me lies memories and hell,
And I have no map to Elysium.

The paradise plains of Elysium,
Can outlast the grasses of earth,
Or become ash before the flames of hell.
Memories may one day fade and rot,
Or continue to fester as they do now,
But never rise to heaven.

I know not if it’s hell where you rot
Or if Elysium is what you call home now,
Only that when you passed, earth lost it’s heaven.

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Names In Stone

Drive

On nights like this,
My stare can shatter streetlights through the windshield.
The highway sings a song, 
Cement whispering of sweet escape.
Constructs of man,
Glass towers,                       
The playful blinking of hell fire taillights,
Meaningless numbers on green signs,  
Pass me  while I wish them away.
But I can drive.
The horizon as the siren on a rock,
Emitting chords of temptation.
She says save me sailor,
Sailor asks salvation to be swift,
As I captain my vessel over asphalt oceans.
Few odd stars are above.  
Sky in eyesight yet,                        
Mostly empty and black.
The highway ahead,
Beckons to come sink my ship.
I’m drowning in flight,
But I drive on.

Drive

The Invisible Man

I am not a vanishing act,
Just an actor as an invisible man.
Face covered by my hands,
But nothing I do changes the fact 
That my body blocks light
And I can always be seen, 
Whether in front of grass’s green
Or in the dead of night.
I pray for a type of potion,
Or some other road to go down
That will make my color drown,
And be washed away by the ocean.
Visible or not I am always here,
Bound to Earth, bound to this rock.
I watch how her inhabitants walk,
And it fills me full with fear.
I am always here,
I am not a vanishing act,
Oh but how my voice does crack
When I beg to disappear.

The Invisible Man

Reflections

How many times have you wished upon a star?
How many stars have I given your name?                                         
You’d dance through space and you’d travel so far.
Sometimes I did the same.

How many pebbles have you skipped upon a pond,
When paradise felt but a stone’s throw away?
How many rocks have I hurled at old memories fond,
Even though no stone cast hurt the statute of your face?

How many nights does my candle burn in its jar?
How many times must I blow out the flame?                                       
You’d dance in the ashes even though you were so far.
Sometimes I did the same.

How many times has the sun risen cold,
When morning’s light would appear dull and gray?
How many evenings was the moonlight bold,
Like the night took the life from the day?

Reflections

Deluge

The wind whips by bearing rain’s fragrance,
Cold cutting knives on faces of vagrants.
Let the deluge begin so I may follow,
Down into the soil.
I shed no sighs when Sun starts searing,
Should water turn frost I’ll not be tearing.
No day or night or man be hallowed
For all that exists, exists in toil.

I walk on war yet under thunderclouds,
Wet and bloodied, head is bowed.
Let the downpour help me drown,
The easiest way to breathe.
Rather be washed away by water, than live to fight for man,
I flee so I can fall, be forgotten, and ferment.
Flowers cover caskets like crowns,
Carnations worn as laurel wreathes.

My six feet of dirt, my wood, my worms,
I need no water death confirms.
But let the deluge that I shall never see,
Come meet me in the soil.
I wait in wood and dark and dry,
And pine for days of wet and sky.
Loving things lost, when I ceased to be,
I never ceased to toil.

Deluge

The Bird In The Clock Sleeps But Never Rests

The colors of the sunset skyline in October,
The chords of a favorite song.
The thought of shared smiles and words spouting from friendly fountains.
Naught stops the march of calendar days,
Naught slows the shifting of seas.

A word that sounds like silence,
A look that sees no color.
A space, empty, yet full of nothing.
Naught stops the march of calendar days,
Naught slows the shifting of seas.

Damn it all if we all be damned,
Damn the gravity that thinks the ground a better place to live than the heavens.
Damn the air above and the soil underfoot.
Naught stops the march of calendar days,
Naught slows the shifting of seas.

Life be light and
Death be darkness, or
Life be lamented and
Death be delight.
Naught stops the march of calendar days,
Naught slows the shifting of seas.

The Bird In The Clock Sleeps But Never Rests

The Snake Has More For Sale Than Apples

I asked an addict a question,
He was a man trying to get clean,
Of the largest struggle of his cession,
He smiled as he said so serene:
“Every day I fear that I’ll relapse,
That my vice’s allures are too strong.
And despite all my progress I’ll collapse,
And slide back into doing me wrong.”
I asked how there was still temptation,
For something that near ruined his life.
“No kiss is sweeter than Damnation’s,”
He said, “And my memories with her are rife.”
He had little shame in his honesty,
He seemed unafraid to tell all.
I told him I was impressed by his lack of modesty,
He said to lie of his addictions would only prove him as their thrall.
“What was your vice of choice” I ask.
He looks back at me and said “Love,
For I kept it close to use like a flask,
And it kept me warm inside like a glove.”      There was a moment of silence
As I looked into this man’s eyes,
Which were wells of stoic sadness
Worn openly as he opted out of disguise.
There was fear for him before I knew
What gave this man his high,
But lusts for love often grew
And could never be denied.
I walked away from the mirror,
Fearing for the man’s relapse,
But the moment he tried to get clean it was clear,
That he never stood a chance.

The Snake Has More For Sale Than Apples