The stone

 it was your eyes beneath the moon

the waves in the breeze

the fluid of your clothes

the waltz of your hair

the stars were candlelight

glowing in the chamber

we were enveloped within

this chamber that pulsed

to the sanguine rhythm 

of our heated veins

it was your eyes beneath the moon

that lured me into your chest

you caged me there

a prisoner to your desire

as I slumbered to the sound

of your thumping heart

the fading faint percussion

within in my prison cell

it was your eyes beneath the moon

the smoke rolling off your soul

inhaling, suffocating, surrendering

collapsing at the precipice

that echoed your name

shouting it through my bones

I would gladly sip your breath

to relinquish your final rest

 

Of what returns

 some of us are comfortable 

with the idea that we will return to the earth

but I haven't met anyone comfortable 

with the idea that some things return from the earth

but it's heard from pulpits and tents

ye must be born again

yet if it's actually done

it's damnation of the soul

even from those whose lord

asked them to eat his flesh 

and quench their thirst for his blood

and he himself stole from the tomb

bringing life from death

becoming the rebellious spirit

that had previously been cast out

always the daring to be used for visions

and then burnt at the stake

drained of their potions

then pressed with judgements and condemnations

robbed of their philosophies

and drowned in the public's poison

for fear burns in the unknown

and they're willing to sell their souls to know

but none of them are willing to actually pay the piper

and return from the earth from whence they came

 

 

 

Internstellar

 my heavenly father wears

Icarus wings

will he crash and burn

like they did in Roswell

will the earth be scorched

like Helios' folly

is that how Hell was built

were they all chiming in

on the same tale

of my heavenly parents

the stars themselves

no longer able to shine

faded and fell

giving their bodies to the earth

is this dust their flesh

is my flesh their dust

do I eat it in remembrance of them

and give thanks they live on in me

or am I the fragment

the tear that fell from heaven

when the waters parted 

and I am just here

in the ocean

with all the other fragments

Litter

 his styling 

a fine tuned engine

radiating from his chest

in preparation of perpetration

smirking reflection in the glass

as future phantoms run

their fingers from dimpled cheek

to chin

this made up façade

ready for a nocturnal ride

the glamorous splendors

flowing from charmed fork tongue

light his way through darkened rooms

and drunken strangers

into glass after glass

and ash after ash

the final splash...

his pale flesh revealed

in morning

in the alley

in a pool of his own