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It’s a straight shot Through a den Of unchecked illness and squalor The embrace of clutter Is a putrid vise for the soul As you dance, with each maddening voice That foams at the shudder Of your wealthy frame Show nothing But a hardened scowl Or cash all of your chips Into the seething gutters…
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Originally posted on Raja's Insight: Photo Credit: Pixabay.com ? Ode to the Talking Drum Fair instrument of melody, I salute the mind you possess, keeping dance in your custody, and your own notions you express separately, among peers in Ayangalu’s hands. Mighty are the rhythms you’ve got, conveyed beyond a thousand mile; you are cousin…
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Chased across a watery grave Onto new ivory shores, Where I’m constantly frayed By the heave of two worlds
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Somewhere There’s a well spouting fortunes For a worn mass of tragedies, Struggling home Single-file into peace at last Till their chains can endure no more And burst, into pyres of rust These parched eyes Would not seek for long If only my pride Would slip away, from the reins At last
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I am but an unsteady rhythm Ambling away From the urgent pulse of mankind Giving in Going under and offbeat From the bending roads forged In the chords, of trumpeting vanguards I’m creeping towards solitude again Crushed, by obscurity The flaw Within brilliance revealed
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The nights are like flocks of vultures That splay apart, death-addled dreams Then flutter From the blast of dawn I’ll emerge from the craters To a feign fresh slate Restored, to be gored by memory Again The past Is a steady revenger On an endless crusade To unfurl, its madness It snuffs out the rays…
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Memories tear through him As he’s drawn to the edge of all things. The love of a life well-spent Cries out, in sheer agony “Consider, all the pain you’ll impart”
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“No regrets” Is apart of a long and comforting tale That fully enshrouds Seductive days past The narrative Rushes from my voice in a panic When familiar faces roam Just a hair too close I scramble for the veil As instinct troubles The mundane, ebb and flow of being Pride Has a world of horror…
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Gravity Abandons the words That I carve into being Nothing is true Nor firmly anchored To the tremors in my mind An array of melodies are born Then fade Just as fast Crossed over In swirls Of black
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