Sheol

They're lost and in thrall to darkness as they descend

Into the netherworld where there's no time to wend

They once scoured the heavens from their pits of toil

But when they passed they were led beneath the soil

There's a path to the deepest of all the darkest depths

Where the milling shadows along its course are swept

Into the inky silent stillness, where all mortals follow

The final place when there's no more time to borrow

In Sheol they'll be, even if the living try to find an ember

And seek out the souls of shades, like the Witch of Endor

With necromancy the dead'll stir, but they'll never leave

But they may shape the darkness for those who grieve

Conjuration will never raise the dead, for we are them

When all we are is drifting shadows, it's not if, but when

We're all in thrall to darkness, when the last light fades

And we descend into the netherworld of Sheol's shades

Thank God (for Christmas)

Thank God (for Christmas) and with boisterous hymns and carols sing
Praise and swear allegiance, although he will never hear or see a thing
And let's thank Christ himself, not a son of Satan, but a son of sobriety
Who wends a way through the texts and transcripts of our faux society

Thank scribes for the God of knives and guns of the aggressive/passive
Happy holidays and Thump the runt, for his Johnson is woefully flaccid
And let the church bells ring, before the approaching sleigh bells tinkle
No(hell) and well, away from the groping hands and a fat mans' winkle
King of Heaven and Earth, to you they'll sing, verily and merrily on high!
God help us now though, for the connection's lost and the inkwell's dry
Our father who art in scriptures, some will starve under wings of locusts
Denizens, of this improbable world of friction, are awash in hocus pocus

And in the silent night the candles are fluttering with the passing of souls
As those abandoned and lost chase invisible dragons of apocryphal scrolls
Our Lord among us, in the smoke and mirrors, you are the unhinged lore
But we will thank God (for Christmas) and bless peace on Earth, for sure?

Tapping The Barometers

There's a time bomb ticking, or maybe it's a deathwatch beetle
And there are fingers tapping on glass, to try and move a needle
Perfect pressure is rising, like a fuse to burn a tinderbox of land
Parching what was verdant green, as the forest fires are fanned
It's time that's ticking, but not forwards, it's quickly ticking down
Not pausing for a single second, until it reaches the zero ground
Godforsaken world of our existence, it's going to 'crash and burn'
The end's in sight, we saw it coming, but there wasn't time to turn
High tides' water's lapping, so why are we tapping the barometers?
Everyone knows the facts, it's in the mercury of our thermometers
Born to die, one by one, but with extinction we can all die together
And although it'll not be today, ahead there is only stormy weather
Run for cover and hide away, beneath all those futile sapling trees
Our last hope has gone now, in the smoke of an Amazonian breeze
Mining, drilling, scrape the ocean bed and prospecting wells for oil
Earth to dearth, dust to dust and the fracking hell of rocks and soil
There's a time bomb ticking and there's not an hour left to wheedle
Even if the pressure is passing 'stormy', of the anticlockwise needle
Rage with need and say a pointless prayer, to keep the children fed
Sometime, much too soon, our blue planet will turn to Martian red

Oceans Of Fire

On a far away distant shore, he watches the setting sun sink into oceans of fire
Cascading rippling rainbows of colour, from plasma to golden brown; to admire
Ending in waves, it's now the time of the eschaton, as the heat caresses his back
As the conflagrations behind him are the apocalyptic infernos of a nuclear attack
Napalm, pestilence, the plague and what came next was from a nightmare vision
Seen before, but forgotten, as he cursed them all with missiles of ballistic fission
Out of the low desert sun, he created a cataclysmic path, in his Revelations' wake
Furious flames climbed to the enraged gods in heavens, as the mountains quaked
Fire and brimstone scorched the earth, as the shore of hellfire was turned to glass
In the dying embers, of this dying day, even the dead desisted, as ghosts amassed
Rains of acid may well pour, on the cinders of the shire and the razed metropolis
Eventide awaits him now though, in the oceans of fire of his barbaric apocalypse

Low Desert Sun

Low desert sun, casts his empty shadow forward, as if to show him the way
Obligingly guiding him, across the land of the lost, beyond the break of day
Wandering away from all humanity, in a sackcloth hood for a leper's crown
Delirious with visions of the desert metropolis as purified as the ghost town
Eventide through night revives him, as he trips in sand, for his flesh is weak
Safely hidden, beneath the stars, to tend the rancid flesh on his rotting feet
Endless darkened dreams infuse him with wanion, as he peels away his skin
Revealing the corrupted beating heart of him, of pestilence, plague and sin
The dawn's ablaze with neon, drawing him near, like moths to oceans of fire
Shining like a beacon to the approaching, droning swarm of an unholy choir
Under his hood, watching the beginning of the end, he calls for rains of acid
Napalm and hellfire's falling, he smiles, for the smell of burning flesh is acrid

The Ghost Town

Time has stopped, for those who lived there, they were born to die
He therefore wanders, like a starving jackal, beneath the desert sky
Every rotten door he knocked on, crumbled, hinges seized with rust
Guarding the secrets within, for outside there was only swirling dust
He'd passed through before, but was repelled by their crude aspersions
Ousted back into the wastelands, as they prayed behind closed curtains
Seared by the low desert sun, his misguided life became insanely vague
The only memory that was certain, was he cursed them with the plague
They've gone now, 'cept for the shades, for nothing's alive in the valley
On the empty streets is tumbleweed and wind-whipped sand in a ballet
Wandering from the ghost town, he hides himself underneath a hood
Not knowing his future destiny, but always knowing where he's stood

On The Edge

I'm hurrying and I'm scurrying and I'm hiding away

Scuttling through a mossy bog, I'm acting like prey

I sense they are there, for their shadows are coming

So I'm breaking my cover and into a mire I'm running

I'm a man on the edge and I'm abroad in dark places

For I can see their quizzical eyes in their invisible faces

And all their inaudible voices are whispering my name

For they're feeding my real fears, with insanity's claim

I'm squelching my escape through boulders and rocks

I think they're now afar, but I was slow out the blocks

So warily I trundle and stumble until I'm sure I'm alone

And step behind a grey monolith of unbreakable stone

I'm restless and tired after all of my delusional rigours

But before I take respite I espy those peregrine figures

And it feels like a nightmare, or paramnesia at a stretch

For now I'm sat above a precipice and I'm out on the edge

I had to escape from my demons and I think you'd agree

But now I'm clinging to crumbling rocks high above a sea

And I'm holding my breath because my back's against a wall

But I'm losing my grip; oh no, oh fuck! I think I'm gonna f...

1 Corinthians 10:20, 21

1 night, tonight, 10:20 pm and 21 seconds past
Can you see him now? He's of an unearthly caste
Oh desolate Heaven, in awe, let Jehovah witness
Rapt by the dark alluring of this Allhallows sickness
In the macabre dancing flames of the pumpkin heads
Nothing's alive, but fear and where our insanity treads
Taking us to the black mass altar, to await the demon
He who rises from the inferno, he is Hell's Amaymon
In Corinthian fables, with the unholy, we cannot sup
And come Allhallows, there can only be Jehovah's cup
Now's the time to turn our backs on the witches spells
Something evil's calling though and in darkness dwells

Secular Ways

They say he parted the waters and guided them through

But the righteous path was fictitious and they hadn't a clue

For his story was thereafter, but now we're dying in waves

As, under a crescent, we cross a Dead Sea of watery graves

It was an imaginary scenario, for nothing is planned

For ours is the desert, juxtaposed to an eternity of sand

And we're still killing each other in an ideological war

For the indoctrinated are unrestrained like never before

But they say we're lost and abandoned in our secular ways

Although we're bearing their cross until the end of our days

So let's follow them to the sea and observe at close quarters

And let them show us the true way, by parting the waters

Smoking Ruins

It's all gone, it's lost, all that's left is the obliteration of our smoking ruins

And those flames that raged high to the sky and the moon and the stars

They were doused, as we hid away from reality, in subterranean shelters

Though we eventually came up to breathe, the atmosphere was charred

We choked on the toxicity of the fallout and the ire of our bile for awhile

As our world crumbled like delusional effigies, that were burnt to ashes

Now it's all gone and there's only the shuffling of feet through dead embers

And as the acid rain falls on our smoking ruins, only the pain is remembered

Burrough Hill ('19)

To the south of my humdrum valley home

Burrough Hill stands above the copious loam

Amongst an easy farrago of rolling undulations

It's an empyrean plateau afar from conurbations

The weathered Iron Age ramparts atop to crown

Like an immovable sentinel for the nearby town

With exquisite views across to its namesake village

Betwixt the two, there's a vale and a farmers' tillage

Adorning the verdant slopes are the covert and spinney

Footpaths and bridleways, where horses might whinny

And above in the sky the ravens will rise on the breeze

Before they swoop and they glide with consummate ease

From the trig or the toposcope on the fortified scarp

With keen eyes that are directed, focused and sharp

Seen in a summers', vaporous, heatwave shimmer

The distant glass towers of Leicester might glimmer...

And on a cold, but clear day and afar from the masses

When the wind is crying, there's a scattering of ashes

Caught by a north easterly it's a last salute to the city

To celebrate and remember, there's joy without pity...

It's a home for cattle and sheep and the occasional pig

And is often a place for a university's archaeological dig

Above the fields of crops and amongst other undulations

Burrough Hill timelessly stands afar from conurbations

Autumn Equinox

Summer slips and falls and winter awaits like a nemesis, Legion

But here and now, autumn sprawls before us, for another season

Farewell light, 'tis now the realm of darkness beyond this equinox

Until the tide of time realigns the days, all gauged by restless clocks

All too soon the witches will awaken their cold reptilian blood

To course through veins, like the Styx, in a dark Cimmerian flood

And SAD will stir itself from its slumber and take centre stage

On its sadistic mission to consume us all in its parasitic phage

Now there's no time or space for summer, for autumn's calling

And the sombre gathering shadows are disconsolately crawling

So light fires to dispel the demons, let beacons burn upon the tors

To cast the dwindling twilight across to distant and future shores

For soon, leaves will fill the air, golden brown and russet red

To fall to the earth, they were once alive, but now they're dead

For the tide of time is dire and pours through three month blocs

Flowing into a realm of darkness, after another autumn equinox

The Vale of Belvoir

It's picture perfect and for the artist a patchwork quilt to sketch

The resplendent views of the Vale, as seen from Stathern edge

Maybe take a pen or pencil and pack some perfect parchment

And draw on natures bounty, from the airily placed escarpment

Savour the scene below, for you're one hundred metres higher

Note and name each sleepy village, under their church's spire

Rambling through shady woods, the sun will creep and dazzle

As you cross teasing undulations, on the way to Belvoir Castle

There flags will fly, upon its bogus ramparts, atop a hidden hill

And maybe you'll hear them jousting, as they fake another kill

Or take in the verdant landscape, when the days are summer long

For there's a copious heart to the Vale, that lies beyond West Wong...

Below Hickling Standard a canal meanders across to Brewer's Grave

Navigating through the crops and pasture, in a water parting swathe

Barges no longer pass, only quacking ducks and misanthropic swans

Watched by grazing sheep and transient dogs with lolling tongues....

So stay awhile, or even longer, or just wander an extra couple o' miles

To another county, over a babbling brook and sporadic wooden styles

There you can climb an enchanting hill, or walk to Woolsthorpe wharf

And return to the Vale of Belvoir, on the towpath, initially west by north

The Wandering Wreake

It gently flows, but sometimes it babbles, from east to west

And there're certain places that it lets you wander at its behest

Passing weeping willows, cottage gardens and crumbling locks

And on a sunny day you might see a wary rabbit, or a weary fox

It twists and turns upon its course from Melton to the river Soar

By quaint villages 'on-the-Wreake', old mills and past Bleak Moor

Herds and flocks will gather on its banks, by humpback bridges

To drink the waters, that feeds the herons and lures the midges

It's placid and pastoral and in the depths of winter it rarely rages

And it's been realigned and abandoned by us at different stages

But like time itself, it only flows one way and though it's not unique

There're poetic reflections in the company of the wandering Wreake

I Am Dead Inside

She looked through my eyes with a knowing wry smile

For she shares the same blood and our place of denial

And her gift of gif awaited behind the blinking red light

A vacuous image of a man who was more akin to a wight

I could feel my heart sinking, like she had turned a dark tarot

Then my flesh turned to ice, as if I was trapped in a barrow

For with the four words of the text, she had complicity implied

That death's not the end, it's a place to reside, 'I am dead inside'

Sparrowhawk

Look into its pitiless eyes, for those eyes are dead

And in its torturous talons, prey, for mercy's fled

A soulless creature beyond the reach of any pastor

The sparrowhawk strikes, for it's a rapacious raptor

It's a cold blooded hunter that catches to rip apart

And a silent stalker with an eternally empty heart

But it's there on high and it's playing hide and seek

Until lives and time collide, beneath a curving beak

The small scurrying rodents cannot look to heaven

For there're beady eyes watching, twenty four seven

And all those innocent songbirds that hide in bushes

Might soon meet their end, when a talon crushes

Your Eyes

Your eyes are staring at me, from the other side of the room

They're staring straight at me, to admonish, I would assume

The whites, those alluring dark irises and the pupils of hate

Seemingly wondering what happened on this dastardly date

Wish I could hide from the sight, for it's an unravelling burden

Tho' I'll settle for second best and pour myself another bourbon

But I'm sweating and shaking and there's claret everywhere

With your eyes unrelenting, although your body's not there

Can barely remember the gouging and the 'fuck and the what?'

But my fingers are bloody and I can taste the bile and the snot

Thought I was merely a witness, but it was me, I would assume

For your eyes are accusing me, from the other side of the room

Xaphan's Gone

Xaphan's gone; he'll no longer fan the flames, or blight the verdant lands
As he transcends to Earth with its poisoned seas and creeping desert sands
Perhaps one day he'll find those open minds, for nothing's clearly focused
His prophecies realised, of plague and hate and swarms of flying locusts
As silence falls, time unfurls, for it's held together with broken stitches
Nothing's forever, not faith or poets, science, or even wizened witches
'tis naught to fear though, for what will be, will always come to pass
Salvation was never any kind of option, for the ceiling's made of glass
God went first and now Xaphan's gone and it's your time to bid farewell
Or mock his failings, but you'll not send him back to a flaming pit of Hell
Now he'll await his fate, amongst the shires, afar from the plastic oceans
Eventide is where he'll dwell, with wicked witches, drinking magic potions

Dead In The Woods

Dead in the woods, he's there, but he still isn't visible
Even with his flesh now rotting, he'll always be invisible
And if anybody cared, then they probably didn't wonder
Did they turn a blind eye, as his mind was torn asunder?
Invisible in life and now he's quietly invisible in death
Not even the raven observed his exhaled last breath
The leafs of the tree do not even whisper his name
He was nothing to nobody, now there's no one to blame
Eerily creaking, a rope on a branch, of a tree, in the wood
When the raven starts creeping, then so does the blood
Oscillating in ever decreasing circles, that no one can see
Odd Mr Nobody is hanging there lifeless; there in the tree
Dead in the woods, he's there, but he still isn't visible
So who gives a damn about him now, the silent invisible?

Fathers Of Gods

Fables and tales, hyperbolic epistles, religious scriptures

Our forefathers gratuitously ordained despotic strictures...

In the beginning? Time flows in a circle without beginning or end

And it's only matter that's aeonian, despite what they've penned

For it's all about destruction and re-creation and their peculiarity

Forever reshaping the darkness of the void without a singularity

When we became 'conscious' there was ignorance without knowledge

So our forefathers sired gods and then coerced us into a faux homage

And behold! There were structures and plans and they could foretell

From Apollo to Zeus, although Mars was long dead and Venus is hell

They couldn't comprehend, so we were told to believe

In a supernatural order, of which they had to perceive

Inner sanctums of the past is where they sat down to think

And concluded that our existence must be more than a blink

We were blinded by faith and every crusade was a calamity

For we were never the children of gods, or any singularity

So there's no hope in our prayers, for worlds are destroyed

As we are left with our unrealities and our gods unemployed

In the end? Time circulates matter with new courses to wend

And from this maelstrom of mayhem we will never transcend

But all of our gods are as one and are dwelling with Aether

Their stories are old and the Almighty itself is not a believer...

By chance we are alive, with the others and what are the odds

Of us being here and still reciting the words of fathers of gods?

Witchcraft

Wicked witches and wizened, salacious succubi, cast
Insidious black spells, for their dark arts Candlemass
They gather in their coven, by the flames of his fire
Corrupt like a raven, for the devil's touch they aspire
Harlots of horror, of their lord Satan they're dreamin'
Cumming, all over them, with his searing hot semen
Raucous, is their laughter, as they worship the goat
All smeared, in his juices, as they cackle and gloat
Fucking the disgusting, for they are under his spell
The witchcraft disciples, who were all sired in Hell

The Dead See

There's a diocese where gods and science can never reach
Hope to ever know where to find, transgress or breach
Every post-life cult has already claimed this place is hallow
Death though is even beyond the paradigm of the witchcraft tarot
Even silence there will be a concept of a thought that cannot be
And nothing will be black or white, in the shades of the Dead see
Do not despair, for this place is very close; 'tis just there, yonder
Sometimes you will feel it's juxtaposed, if you choose to ponder
Every tick of the clock, as is known, is merely mortality's bait
Eternity's not for us forever, 'tis only a notion of an infinity fate

Dear Satan

Dear Satan,

Having already sent a letter to God (no reply yet) I thought that I'd also write to you, to see how the land lies between us at the moment. Perhaps sort one or two things out with you, a bit of straight talking between my demons and the devil, if you like... only kidding! Of course I realised a long time ago that what you say 'goes' and what you do... well, it's there for all to see.

Anyway, I've decided to write you a short poem, in homage to you. I hope you enjoy it!

My liege, you're pure darkness, you're the ice in my heart
You're the hate and the fear and you turn light into dark
And your hate is a beautiful rage, it's a nuclear explosion
You poison the seas and blight the land with soil erosion

My lord, you kill hope with despair and turn an eye blind
You turn water into acid and have all my demons aligned
You're a stab in the back, but always cloistered by guile
And you feed the preachers of hate with venomous bile

Dear Satan, you're the rope and the knot; the noose round my neck
And when we play cards you always pull Death from the deck
You're cunning and deceitful as you play all your devilish tricks
But you are there for me on speed dial, number six, sixty six

I know you get a lot of fan mail, but I hope you find time to read my verse of appreciation... hopefully you'll not burn it in the fires of Hell at least! Hey, don't forget that I'm the one fanning those flames and creating the thermals for that fucking vulture that's keeping a beady eye on me! I'm just saying, that's all, you know that you can rely on me.... I'm going nowhere, am I? For god sake (apologies for the blasphemy there). Just needed to get that off my chest, sorry.

Your loyal subject

Xaphan

Dear God

Dear God,

Hi there, how are you? ........hello, anyone there? Just kidding!

We haven't corresponded before and I've never met you, or even heard from you, but there has been plenty of stuff written about you. It's all old material now though and scribed by ghost writers back in the day, I guess they're just 'ghosts' now though!

You'll have to excuse my flippant joviality (some might say "sarcastic" - hey, whatever!).
Anyway, as you may or may not know, I fell from Heaven into Hell a long time ago and I'm just hoping that you don't bear me any ill feelings. I don't remember anything about it myself, but my liege Satan has even suggested that you threw me out! I can't remember a "Heaven" though, as for "Hell", well......
I just want you to know, that living in hell wasn't my choice, I just found myself here. It's not a lonely place though, there're so many others here and some are doing the devil's work - I'm just fanning the flames:

Cast into Hades, 'tis now where I dwell
Abandoned here in this flaming pit of Hell
Now and thereafter an inmate of perdition
Under eternal scrutiny without remission...

Hope has burned away and my soul's long lost
Evil reigns unabated and it's with a deadly cost
Left with demons and doubt and a funereal pyre
Perhaps purgatory's the fate of the utterly dire?

Dear God, Satan's my liege, but it's a heavy load
So I'm speaking to you in the secret tongues of code
Our father wherever, can you see a circling vulture?
Spying a beady eye on me, in this sea of sulphur...

Perhaps you can see, perhaps you can understand the meaning of the verse, perhaps you are omnipotent and mayhap you are the saviour. If you're just a manifestation of someone's fucked up imagination, then I'll probably not see you here, there, or anywhere in Hell. But you need to know that Satan is very much alive and well.

Hopefully this letter won't get lost in the empyrean post... or be 'returned to sender'. Anyway if you do get to read it, I hope you can appreciate the poem's sentiment, yeah? ........hello, anyone there? Ha ha, just kidding again!

Kindest regards

Xaphan

#Leap Of Faith #Watching My Back #Invisible Shopping

#Leap Of Faith

My god above said that I could fly
Said he'd unfurl my wings, so I would not die
He said to me "take this leap of faith"
I'm sure it was him; or was it a ghastly wraith?...
...ahhhhhh

#Watching My Back

My thoughts are focused, but my mind's restricted
I'm so self obsessed, some might say "addicted"
I'm sure that's what they said, but I was smoking crack
And now I'm paranoid, so I'm watching my back

#Invisible Shopping

The invisible man is flummoxed and in a terrible mood
He's been out shopping and bought his invisible food
He's standing there wondering, thinking this is bizarre
Because somewhere in the car park is his invisible car

'Wake'

I await the wake

As I desecrate the grave

That I'm buried in

Dear Earth

Dear Earth,

Hi there, how are you? I thought I'd drop you a line, because some of the family are a bit worried about you. They're saying that you're not too happy about the way things are going at the moment, that we might be abusing your trust? I really hope that you don't think that this is the case, because we've put in so much hard work to get where we are!

I've got a few bullet points for you -

* We own the place! (we've got the paperwork, OT & NT etc) I'm sure you remember agreeing to this? If not, consult your legal team.
* It's up to you to prove that the above is BS and that you take precedent.
* We were told to go forth and multiply and multiply and multiply, so we did.
* Our maintenance of the place has been impeccable. We've cut back the forests, so it's all neat and tidy and easier to control. As we speak we're burning off ALL of the filthy fossil fuels, so everywhere should be a lot cleaner after we've finished doing that. Also you'll be glad to hear that we're trying everything in our power to get this place warmed up a bit.
* We're keeping all the needy wildlife well under control, habitat adjustment, poaching and hunting - even culling where necessary (there are no current plans to cull ourselves, but read on).
* We have a master plan, that'll keep both you and us happy. Details to follow some time soon.
* We have to borrow (and take) today, for our tomorrow. That's business I'm afraid; very afraid.

Let's cut to the chase here, quite frankly you have a reputation for "extinction" events! You need to understand that that's not going to happen with us; got it? We're not abusing you, we're on your side, honestly (our whole ethos is built on honesty and trust and most importantly living in harmony). We know what's best for you, so relax and don't worry about a thing - everything's under control (our control - don't forget that!).

So I hope all that has put your molten core at ease, I'm sure it has. Finally could you cut back on the forest fires, droughts, floods, cyclones and hurricanes etc. There's no need for it really, is there now? Oh, one last thing, if you think we're getting like all consuming locusts and are leaving behind a bit of a mess, you'll be happy to hear that we've got some very powerful nuclear cleaning devices. If needed they'll be deployed to get the place nicely cleaned up and sterile.

Kindest regards

Xaphan (pp Humanity)

All My Dreams Are Nightmares

All my dreams are nightmares, of crashing planes
Long lost lovers with others and dirge like strains
Locked in the reality of nothing, I'm forced to watch
My wretched silent screams I cannot seem to quash
Yearning for amnesia, but there's always one last thought
Devilline crystal eyes, I'm by this dreamcatcher, caught
Ravenously it feeds the deepest, darkest, hour of pain
Each taunting tale of terror shown, burns like acid rain
All my dreams are nightmares and this love's, a myth
My only genuine faith, is in all these ghosts, I'm with
Sometimes they may appear using my personal traits
Almost reassuring, but I know it's the guise of wraiths
Ringing like a death knell, but it's the alarm that's calling
Easing the dread for a while, come the dawn of mourning
Needing the reality of nothing, for all my dreams are dead
I try to quell my racing heart and find my sanity's thread
Gone, for now, those memories, for daylight's my antisera
Hostilities will resume though, come the next chimera
They'll re-emerge in the night and show me horror and loss
Macabrely leading me, like an effigy, to a burning cross
All my dreams are nightmares, they're from a cliff to fall
Reaching for a silent lover, who's back in another's thrall
Each haunting hour of horror is like those crashing planes
Stalling before falling, then hideous plumes from flames

Paradise Hill

In hopeful reveries might we be led through Eden's garden
To a certain place where we might find salvation's pardon
And there, they say, we'll be beyond our humanity's will
For at the end of the road is the sanctuary of Paradise Hill

Perhaps tonight we'll encounter an unspoilt ocean's roar
And start our journey on the golden sands of a distant shore
Rambling inland we might hope to find the spring of Taurus
Accompanied by, on high, the songbirds exuberant chorus
Dunes of naught but sand will lead to aromatic lavender fields
In a constant fragrant blooming of pure perpetual yields
Sun ripened crops will range, far and wide, in perfect weather
Everything raised and reaped, finally equally shared together
Happy thoughts to ponder, but the path's a tarmac lane
In an idyll that was never ever, the illusion's all in vain
Look back in fear, or not, as we try to cross this shire
Look forward with hope, or not, for what we all aspire

There's a dream of an Eden and it's on Paradise Hill
It's there beyond the yonder, where humanity's still
Tho' the choir's ethereal, perhaps it's a place of plenty
But the road is long and some say the church is empty

#Rainbow Palm #Paradise Hill #Wet Dream

#Rainbow Palm

Cross your palm with this sunlit rainbow's hue
Then cage and crush it, 'til it's naught but dew
And kill its beauty, as your tears pour like rain
Evanescing, Richard Of York Gave Battle In Vain

#Paradise Hill

There's a dream of an Eden on Paradise Hill
It's there beyond the yonder, where humanity's still
Tho' the choir's ethereal, perhaps it's a place of plenty
But the road is long and some say the church is empty

#Wet Dream

I'm drowning in a dream induced by gallons of Bud
Locked in a delirious dream of a technicolor flood
There are rivers and oceans and a waterfall pouring
And a cloying dampness beyond my slumbering snoring

#The Invisible Man #Mandarinfish #Poet

#The Invisible Man

The invisible man has gone to ponder and think
About writing his manuscript in his invisible ink
It's a novel idea, but he won't reach the masses
So there's nothing to write and he can't find his glasses

#Mandarinfish

An illusion of a tangerine dream? No, I'm a mandarinfish
And I'm a rainbow siren and mayhap your reality's wish
So come swim with me in the briny, tho' I'll not be specific
For I'm shoal you'll never find me in the depths of the Pacific

#Poet

Penning lines of turgid words
Obliging with adjectives like smelly turds
Eternally whimsical and they know it
The everyday life of any poet

She's The Ice In My Blood

She's a memory in the mist
And she's a silhouettes shadow
When she's gone it's like a trick
That chills down to the marrow
But when she's there, she's a flare
She's a luminous rainbow...
...and no honey is sweeter
She's an apocalypse pending...
...and a lotus eater

She's the famine and the feast
And the drought and the flood
She's a gentle caress of a zephyr
And she's the ice in my blood
She's an emotional sinkhole...
Or have I misunderstood?

But when she's there, who cares?
She's an hourglass pouring...
...and a passionate schemer
She's the most dangerous tryst...
...and a bohemian dreamer
But she's gone, without a trace
And there is no way to follow
In the shadows and silhouettes
Where she was, is now hollow

(21 - 6 - {25})

Cities In Flames (Fear)

(The Wrath and The Fear)

Consuming flames, of molotov cocktails, are borne from latent embers
Inside the burning metropolises will be the skulking anarchist pretenders
The renegade brigades, with their middle fingers raised, will run amok
It might be their time tomorrow to worry and intimidate the placid flock
Ending the days of law and order, they'll hide under the hood and mask
Self-righteous firebrands, fanning wrath and fear, is their egocentric task
In tomorrow's hours their movement will stake their unfounded claims
Nothing will be left to loot though, in the toxic waste of cities in flames
Fanatics of the delusional will reign when the modern civilisations fall
Leaving only ruins and bedlam, for we will have lost the urban sprawl
And nothing will stop their ravaging revolution; for the fire is stoked
Marauding in herds, when the lighters ignite rags, in kerosene soaked
Eerily quiet for now, but perhaps tomorrow we will be under attack
Somewhere, out there, are the anarchist arsonists readying to sack

Cities In Flames (Wrath)

(The Wrath and The Fear)

Clinging cinders from raging flames, are borne from a red hot ember
Inside the metropolises will be razed, for the urban guerrillas agenda
The insurgencies with incendiaries and kalashnikovs will run amok
It's their time, perhaps tonight, to readjust and turn back the clock
Executing deliriously barbaric plans, for the dragon has finally woke
Sending us to Hell, in the ash and smog, of the toxic burning smoke
In the hours of wrath and fear they will make unenlightened claims
Nothing will be left though, but the scorched earth of cities in flames
Fire will engulf us, for those mad messiahs will want to kill us all
Lest we bend the knee we're going to die in the nihilists pyres pall
And not even death will stop them, the bedlamite fire starters
Madness will be idolised and reborn in the usual myth of martyrs
Empires of evil will flourish as we hide and watch another city burn
Sending us into hellfire, if not tonight, then soon an evil eye will turn

Dirge Of The Dead

Do you hear somewhere, in the darkness, the sirens' song?
It's a pure and enrapturing choir, beyond mortality's throng
Rendering the blackest incantations, of a bewitching spell
Ghostly ephemeral, juxtaposed to a sagacious solemn knell
Each restless night's, unending passage, of troubled dreams
Opens the potential portals, of unnerving post-life themes
For those enchanting charms are by dark lamentations led
They are lifeless threnodies, they are the dirge of the dead
Hauntingly seductive and as alluring, as an umbra's clutch
Every note of conjuration is a caress of the othersides touch
Dystopian nightmares merge, where demons die in its thrall
Evaporating like misty phantoms under the approaching pall
And beyond ethereal psalms are seas of silence to be among
Do you hear them now, or are you already where you belong?

Oblivion

Life is measured in time, before it eventually slips

Like the fading last light of a permanent eclipse

As dusk turns to dark the shadows grow deeper

Past the last place of the unconscious lost sleeper

It was physically formed and then linearly aligned

But soon to be nowhere, like the passing of time

And nowhere is no place, there's nothing to share

It's not another dimension of a theory or prayer

Life slips away easily in the void of the sense-less

Into a vortex beyond any 'imaginable' consensus

Not a depth or a length from an invisible surface

Not any kind of space for an impossible purpose

It's not simple or complex, obvious or labyrinthian

It's the eternal white hole of the soul, it's: Oblivion

Purgatory's a state and it's not the perdition of Hell

Or even the sense of free falling into an infinite well

It's 'never' forever, it's an untouchable entity

Without any inkling of a perceptible identity

Life slips away constantly off an improbable edge

Into the silence of a non-place of colourless dread

It's an unseeable lightfall of inaudible sounds

And with nothing to feel, in nothing it drowns

In a crystal clear sea of a primordial formation

Far from the concept of any sentient creation

And without the imaginary line of a meridian

There is nothing at all, there is only: Oblivion

It's always for-never, it's deeper than sleep

Where everything goes the shadows can't creep

Heaven has gone and there're no angels or reaper

And no way back to find a conscious lost sleeper

Time can't elapse, therefore time has never passed

And when nothing exists the boundless is amassed

There was never a 'now', there'll never be a 'when'

For what's slipped away before will slip away again

Until every last trace of even an aura's relinquished

For in the untouchable dark every star is extinguished

When genesis is void there's just an infinity surplus

The desolate non-space of an impossible purpose

And when all has passed in a corporeal dominion

There's nothing to imagine, for all is: Oblivion...

So imagine it now, a picture in the eye of your mind

Perhaps an empty white space is the image you'll find

Imagine the nothingness of the untouchable entity

The unavoidable concept of your subliminal enmity

For beyond light is the night, a darkness like obsidian

And it's waiting for you, but it's nowhere, it's: Oblivion

Some Other Monster

The prose below; well, it's almost definitely not about me...

There's no guilt in my mirror to see; it's some other monster...

A frigid monster that needs to find what makes you tick

When it touches and tantalises you and makes you slick

One a second rising and maybe more when you're excited

Maybe quicker still in a fevered climax that's unrequited

It's not about a memory of mine, there is no reflection...

I'm sure it's about somebody else, who cannot be sectioned...

A somebody, or something, that will coldly pare you apart

It will splice and dice you, until it finds your bleeding heart

For it will be there, in the dark of the night, at your behest

As it caresses you with fingernails ready for a razor's quest

It's not about me, for I'm sure I've not been alive forever...

It's about a malevolent creature, probably undead but clever...

In a procaine haze it will split your sternum when you've given up

And it will hold your icy heart and from an artery it will gladly sup

It will drain you dry and take your will, but it will be sure to suture

And without any reflection, you will be trapped in forever's future

The prose above; well, please tell me that it's not about me...

And it's about a monster I'm unable to see; some other monster...

She's Stalked By Her Insanity

Somewhere in a cold dark place, deep down and dead
Her aroused insanity gorged as the pompous feeders fed
Every egocentric medium, of every shamanic sham
Seduced and fooled her and didn't give a tinker's damn
She's stalked by her insanity and she lives with lies
The impossible quests behind her corrupted guise
And now she's sure she talks to those who've passed
Leaving no room for doubt, there're no questions asked
Keepers of the imaginary charm with delusional candour
Evoking reunion beyond death, for they choose to pander
Dreamscape phantoms inveigled her with beguiling hope
Biding their time to guide her through the mystical trope
Yesterday has been and gone and it cut her like a knife
Her sorrow deepened and now she needs tomorrow's life
Every nightmare's a haunting memory and is there to coax
Reflected in the smoke and mirrors of a utopian hoax
In a full moon phase she will talk to no one with eyes ablaze
Not knowing that she's meandering through an endless maze
She's stalked by her insanity, it's gradually getting closer
An unyielding ominous presence that's in need of closure
Nothing matters though, turn the cards, it's crystal clear
Inside her head she's now with those that she holds dear
There's a place, cold and dark, where she hides the facts
Yet she was last seen wandering on moonstruck tracks