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Clutched to the spires of Rome The old shores thrive As a raving echo Through his mind Bound To be lovingly cradled To a satisfied rest To his unburned prime By day he pines Deprived Of his wartime fury Of the towering Plume and flame Far from his pride From Venetian roads Left simmering in…
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Bound To lily-white As the voiceless shell Derailed And diminished Both hastily claimed And abhorred In a veil of strange faith With a former world Tattered and blamed Forevermore a shadow Captive Caged and bare Where the few roads Fray, fail and fade Into hate
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What am I to do? In this bastard age Where the nights wail on end Scheming and stalking Never fully alone Amid the waves of my skin The hellfire flourishes With words I’ve reaped through the day Never fully alone On the rails of my mind Kept lively with thoughts With freight trains of horror…
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Set ablaze and astray Through the weathered trees Left hollow And contorted by fear I’ll roll and I’ll ravage Barred From compassion’s womb While rendering These woods Deathly, charred and bare For now I thrive As a lingering furnace Quaking, brimming and scalding A stockpile of rage Inbound for a merciful cliff To a fiery…
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Tone deaf The melodies fall in distress In their frantic urge To conceive, to convey To bring about heartfelt sorrow A euphoric spell True praise And despair Desperately spawned Without form or grace Words fall in torrents To be butchered and maimed By solid ground Each verse Is static-bound and battered To be dissolved In…
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Once married to wholesome deeds When the earth was quaint Tranquil and fair But the cyclones fell And ravaged self-worth Unearthing All feral and tasteless desires Once blissfully married To a full and serene state of mind Before the slums Sprang higher and higher They were bent to encircle And cradle the mourned Enclose them…
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So proud In his masculine stride He falls from worth Consumed In short-bursts As the unforeseen A mother’s dismay The corpsman’s cause A cry of revenge A promising tale Among the many They’ve culled
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Nothing speaks And time Rolls hatefully along On a blood-sopping day That crawls Clawing and gasping In fear Nothing can preach As shadows loom cold In the high tranquil skies Over prosperous ground There is nothing to reap But a few brittle words Spat out in short bursts And fuming of death
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