We sat at the piano
Side by side, you and I
The metronome ticking
To keep me in time
The left hand path
At the tips of my fingers
A focus on rhythm
A root for the singer
Who sat there in silence
While learning to lead
As you lay down the melody
Thus planting the seed
There was a suicide in the family. Somewhere in my bloodline a man left behind his wife and five children during a time of deep depression. The youngest of the five children did not believe it to be suicide and until her dying day considered it to be an accident. She told me this in my younger years after I had explained to her that I was the only one left who was interested in her story.
She told me about her father and how he had invented a cinema screen that was perforated in such a manner that sound could travel through it without effecting the image being projected upon it. After investing in research and developing the screen he had put a patent on his invention. However a company took his invention, changed the shape of the holes slightly, put a patent of their own on it and put it on the market before he got his invention out in to the big wide world. This led him in to bankruptcy and shortly after he was found dead in the living room of the family home. Poisoned by an unlit gas fire.
Upon what do you stand?
The Earth?
Your feet?
Others?
Within the reach of kings
Touched by the tainted
Fuelled by cult and obsession
The web of lies expands
Spinning in to oblivion
I thought of you
But you didn’t return the favour
Preferring to spin another lie
An obvious deception
Leaving me with the question
Where is the fruit I was promised?
Treasures found in unspoken places
A pulse lingering deep in to the night
He took another sip from the vessel
And felt the warmth of the water of life
Farewell old friend he whispered
In time we’re sure to meet again…
My tears become a storm
A rage I can barely handle
Pushing to the brink
Of self control
It’s in my soul
This world that you created
Distanced from the real
A parasitical disaster
Sucking at my thoughts
Draining life from what is pure
Building in a system
That is becoming
Immune to your poison
Life. A cycle of sorts that differentiates from other cycles by its ability to evolve when its course is altered. An ability made possible by senses that can detect environment and energy, and an intellect that can process what these senses detect. An ability that creates self awareness, which in turn brings the notion of mortality. Life is thus a fight for survival and the key to this survival is understanding.
These brittle little cogs
In the delusional machine
Have left the future
Far behind them
To drown in hails
Of primal screams
What of their youth?
What of their dreams?
What of the stigma
They create
With their ignorance and folly
And their whiny little traits
Just let them run
Towards the cliff
Let them believe
That they can fly
And the future maybe saved
From this breed of breathing lies
Disregard the surrounding chaos
Just focus on those mischievous eyes
There is a plan behind them
Where grey and white is all that matters
Where sparks bridge the void
With all the duality of an oculus
A third eye peers out from deep inside
Reaching and receiving in equal measures
Beyond the actions and reactions of feelings
And their poor judgement
