Knowing the source
To this fountain of sorrow
Reveals the depths of your being
Each tear a path
From your soul to your cheek
Running to a quiver
Of lips yet to speak
To a trembling chin
Trying to utter the sins
That present you thus
Before me
*
Tell me
What’s on your mind
What is the nature
Of the crime
That stirs your very core
Is this heartbreak a loss
Of love
Or the cost
Of actions
You use to deceive me
Identity
It’s who I am
It’s what I am
It’s what I have
It’s what belongs to me
It’s what I feel
Not what is real
Unless of course
You see me pleased
See, I don’t care
And I don’t share
And you’re the burden
Inside my lair
So do what I say
And stay out of my way
As I let my chaos reign
’cause
It all makes sense to me
’cause
I want you
To do what I want
I want you
To beg
To grovel
And shake
’cause
I want you
Naked and screaming
I want you
In anguish
And ready to hate
For it is my cause
Caws
Caws
Caws
…
“What is the point of your art?”
“To reach out and touch people from beyond the grave.”
Lend me an ear so that I may tell you a tale of redemption…
The night belonged to hymn. A gentle song ushering the son to rise.
I will get in to your head
Take your bleeding heart
Set you on a course
That you cannot depart
I set these words in motion
As a warning
Not a dare
I tried to give you a direction
And you returned with a blank stare
I told you not to climb
To the point of no return
But you will not listen
I told you at the top
You will only crash and burn
Yet you remain persistent
I guess that you’re a child
Who doesn’t want to be a kid
I guess you’ll learn the hard way
Like I did
Free fools
Three words
And paper cuts
I can feed your illusions
Alleviate the confusion
With a sweet taste of fantasy
*
I can shroud you in darkness
Force you to cry and confess
With a promise of ecstasy
*
I can make you wish
I can make you believe
I can make you steal
I can make you deceive
But that’s not the way
I love
There’s a melancholic madness
Behind this virtual facade
Where intimacy in its infancy
Is exploited by the mad
There’s an artificial intellect
Whose copies are near infinite
Collecting pieces of the past
Insuring nothing can be intimate
And so he watches
And observes
With facial features carved like stone
Thinking
If this is what the world is now
Then it’s best to be alone
As obsolete adolescents
Simply refuse to let go
Of their obsessions built in infancy
That they loop and then watch grow
Simple minds in ageing bodies
With all their trophies on a shelf
Feel no guilt as the guilty
Watch their pleasures and themselves
Candles were lit as a romantic gesture while the fruit of the union was laid upon the alter in preparation for sacrifice.
This was to be a gift for egos who wanted far more than they deserved and who were prepared to do anything to get it. Thus the blood of the innocent was to be spilt for them to feel sated.
The sacrifice was a boy still far from manhood. Drowsy from the effects of distilled spirits and unaware of his intended fate.(…)
When the blade in his father’s hand rose above his beating chest, it glinted in the candle light and in that instant he thought he could see a shining star. A star that brought darkness as he slipped unconscious.
Blood ran in rivulets down his ribcage as the mother called for servants to prepare the boy for the flame. The servants approached the dying boy, lifted him gently then left in silence while his parents embraced each other in order to initiate sexual intercourse.
The boy was carried to an illuminated room, in the centre of which was a long rectangular shaped table, topped with stainless steel and behind which stood a hooded figure wearing a surgical mask. With a gesture of the hand, the figure ushered the servants to come forward then opened their arms to present the table before them. The servants placed the boy upon the cold stainless steel, making the boy display the slightest of shivers.
The hooded figure looked down upon the him with large amber eyes and with a warm androgynous voice said: “I am here to save you my boy.”
Translated from the shadows.
The GeoSolus Web Log 